


Fallen/Resurrected: Second Chance

by Asperon



Series: Fallen/Resurrected [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Keith (Voltron), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bisexual Keith (Voltron), Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort, Druid Keith (Voltron), Excessive Exposition, F/M, Friends to Enemies, Galra Keith (Voltron), Human Keith (Voltron), Hurt, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith (Voltron)-centric, Lance (Voltron) Angst, M/M, Shiro (Voltron) Angst, Soulmates, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2019-10-31 02:47:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 34,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17840945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asperon/pseuds/Asperon
Summary: Ke'Ith is back in the game. Whether that is a good or a bad thing he has yet to decide.However, things start looking up for him. He finds a new mate in the last place he'd expect it, he finishes his training, he goes to war and so, so much more...But his suffering is not over...It is far from over...And it might kill Ke'Ith all over again, even if not physically...





	1. Once again

**Author's Note:**

> After one and a half weeks of tedious waiting, I am back with the second part of Fallen/Resurrected: Fallen/Resurrected: Second Chance! Woohoo!  
> On a more serious note though, I think I'll be uploading in a two day rythm from now on...This is why:  
> It gives me more time to write! Meaning less stress, better chapters, longer chapters. More time for you to comment, more time for me to fix any errors that might be pointed out. Also, new readers will feel less overwhelmed (At least I hope so, because knowing myself I'd find it difficult to follow, to really follow a work through till the end if it gets new chapters on a daily basis!)  
> But whatever, here we go! Have fun!  
> Kudos, comments and hits of course are well appreciated!

This time, Ke’Ith really awoke. With a harsh gasp, a throaty cough and a wet sob. As he arched his back and cursed between his coughs and cries, his sore body protested all over, his bones aching, his skin itching and his muscles feeling like they were being ripped apart by his sudden movement. 

Distantly, Ke’Ith was also aware he was wrapped in some kind of fabric from head to toe and covered by a mass of silk almost hugging his front like a second skin.  
In between trying and failing to get either of the former off him, coughing on and on, squirming to relieve the tension of his spring-coiled body and cursing enough to make anyone blush in shame, Ke’Ith toppled off whatever elevation he was propped up on, tumbling to the ground in a mess of fabric, limbs and tears. 

The ground was cold, smooth and unforgivingly hard, feeling like it was stone, maybe marble. Ke’Ith couldn’t tell, as he was hopelessly trapped within this mess, entangled to a point where he could barely move, left to struggle uselessly. All he could see was the cloth he’d been neatly wrapped in, lengths of black bandages with a purple sheen, and the cloth that entrapped him, made of an equally black but silky material.

Being bound like this really didn’t help Ke’Ith’s still flaring anxiety and panic. Even his Druid powers didn’t help, seeming to have left him in this moment of weakness; the mental link to his mom and his family was gone. He was all alone. So Ke’Ith, realizing his struggle could only come to an end fruitlessly, ceased to move and relaxed as much as he could against the floor, loosening up his muscles, waiting, crying, wondering whether anyone would come by, whether there even was anyone who could come by.


	2. Hall of the dead

After waiting for what felt like half an eternity, Ke’Ith stopped crying. He just stopped mid-sob, as if he’d run out of tears to shed. Inhaling shakily and realizing he couldn’t do anything else, he just lay there, cooling off, calming down. He felt like a raw mess and most probably was one as well. His face was damp, his back was stiff, his body hurt and his mind was as disarrayed as can be; Ke’Ith just couldn’t focus and jumped from one thought to another with murderous speed. So Ke’Ith thought. Pondered. About his life. His family. His past. His future. His death. The afterlife. The Judges. The Empire. The Coalition. Voltron. Lance.

Ke’Ith hated how his thoughts still seemed to revolve around a person he so obviously shared a mutual hatred with. Soulmates, ha! As if! All that saddened yet enraged him all over again. Swallowing his tears, be they ones of sorrow or hatred, and breathing deeply, Ke’Ith began struggling again. He was a soldier, a Druid of the Galra Empire! He shouldn’t and wouldn’t be stopped by even his own death, much less a mere cloth! Tidying up his wrecked mind and summoning what little strength he currently had, Ke’Ith freed himself from his entrapment, tattering the fabric at its edges, the ripping sound briefly chasing away the unnatural silence. Standing up and looking around, Ke’Ith didn’t mind any of that, too confused to care about the ragged cloth in his hands.  
He was definitely not aboard the Eternal Empire.

He’d already suspected as much, hoped as much, and…well…at least his body hadn’t been left lying around the generator room. And it hadn’t disintegrated either; Ke’Ith was obviously fine-aside from his sore body and messy mind.  
Now, where was he?

Casting a long look onto his surroundings, Ke’Ith found himself to be at the end of a long, cuboid-shaped room bisected by a central aisle lined with massive columns. Tilting his head back, Ke’Ith saw the fire bowls and large imperial banners hanging in between the pillars, the former drenching the room in a cold, flickering, purple light, the latter spreading a silent aura of authority and power. Lowering his gaze, Ke’Ith found another thing to be confirmed. Not a hope, but a suspicion. This was a mortuary; a hall of honors, if you will.

After all, in between every two columns, propped up on a pedestal eerily similar to the one Ke’Ith stood next to and covered by an exact copy by the cloth he held in his hands, lay a body.  
And there were not just a few pedestals. Gazing into the distance, Ke’Ith couldn’t see the end of the room, its far edges vanishing in the darkness. The smell of death overwhelmed him, the pungent odor making him gag. Ke’Ith could barely bite back his vomit, but he swallowed nonetheless, trying to rid himself of the sour, bitter taste that suddenly coated the insides of his mouth.  
Breathing through his mouth, Ke’Ith set to examine the rest of the hall; looking closer, he saw the floor, the walls, the ceiling and the pedestals were all made of the same material, a smooth, black stone polished to the point Ke’Ith could see himself in it.

And what he saw made him flinch and recoil.  
At first.  
Then Ke’Ith leaned forwards again, staring intently at his reflection. His eyes! What had happened to them?  
Tearing off the bandages around his head, Ke’Ith could only pale at what that revealed.  
Well, actually he couldn’t even pale.  
His skin had always been a bit on the white side, but now-if Ke’Ith hadn’t known any better, he’d say his resurrection had turned him into a porcelain doll. And his eyes…were white too. Not like porcelain though, no, more like…bright, glowing, neon-white, if the latter even was a thing. Neon-white; Ke’Ith couldn’t help the comparison; his eyes seemed to shine from the inside out, and Ke’Ith was pretty sure they’d glow in the dark.  
Tracing a hand along the face markings he’d inherited from his mother, he noticed how much more they stood out now, sharply pronounced against his skin, the only color now remaining in his face.

Ke’Ith examined the rest of himself with the help of an equally reflective pillar next to him. Other than his eyes and his skin, he didn’t seem too different, although he could’ve sworn his canines were a bit longer than they used to be just…yesterday? The day before yesterday? The day before that? How much time had passed since he died? And, once again, where was he?

Trying to find answers, Ke’Ith got up from where he had bent down towards the column in front of him to get a better look at his teeth, and staggered away from where he had lay, pressing onwards on shivering legs.

Stepping out of the alcove of his pedestal, Ke’Ith was assaulted by a sudden up-draught, cold, icy even, making him twitch and flinch, which morphed into a shivering fit not even a tick later. Ke’Ith wrapped his pall around himself tightly. It didn’t help much, but at least he could now walk through the corridors of this place without looking like a mummy. Ke’Ith giggled and smiled to himself just a little at that.

And there he went. Trying to find answers, his family, anything, anyone.


	3. Fear and hope

The last two days had been a strange experience for the Paladins-especially Lance. No one could really tell how or why, much less what, but after seeing that Druid die two days ago while said Galra-according to his own words-had been defending his family and his home, they all felt like some kind of connection had just been terminated, as if a red string linking them to someone across the universe had just snapped.

It was the worst for Lance. These two days, he couldn’t help but be befallen by a sudden, all-encompassing lethargy, sadness and hollowness. More often than not, he retreated into his own head, allowing only his chaotic mess of a mind with all its obscurities to keep him company. He even forwent his skin care routine, all of a sudden not seeing a point in it anymore, choosing to rather just sit or lay around, alone with his thoughts.

Thoughts which revolved around Keith unsurprisingly often. Lance just wondered what Keith was doing right now. And where he was; they knew he was somewhere within the Galra Empire’s ever so slowly shrinking borders, but was Keith truly there as a soldier, like everyone feared and no one hoped? And if it was true, what did Keith do? What was his job? His rank? How was he holding up?

Under that aspect, Lance liked to imagine Keith as a leader, fearless and powerful, yet kind and compassionate, treating his men and the peoples the Galra ruled over well, trying to shoulder as many burdens as he could, helping to ease the strain of the war on everyone.  
Thinking like that, Lance could only guess, but if anything, he’d say, maybe even bet, that Keith would be a general in the Galra army. But not one who hid behind his soldiers, yet demanded the most outrageous acts of sacrifice, crime and cruelty, no, Lance imagined Keith as a general who led his subordinates into battle himself, spear-tipping any and all of his offenses and defenses, furious and unstoppable in his own right, jumping to whoever’s aid without batting an eye. Living up to what Lance thought of him-in the adoring sense: A force to be reckoned with.  
Which brought him to think about what Thace had told them before his…death. Ke’Ith. A Druid. Lance wouldn’t believe it until he saw Keith himself taking off one the Druid’s masks right before his eyes.

Allura and Coran had told the Paladins what little they knew about the Druids after the video call two days ago had ended with the Druid’s and Thace’s death and Pidge had asked about who these ‘freaks’ were.  
Zarkon’s elite.  
Magicians schooled in dark arts, utilizing Quintessence in its raw, destructive form.  
Quintessence-infused, vile creatures, hungry for power, relentlessly searching for a source of unlimited Quintessence, draining entire planets at once with their magic.  
Monsters.  
Torturers.  
Just the thought of them made Lance shiver with disgust.  
Just the thought of Keith being one of them made Lance shiver as well. This time, though, he shivered with fear and hope. Fear that Keith had become one of them, hope that he had not.


	4. The search

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you like this new part so far?
> 
> And what do you think will happen next?

The other Paladins felt the red string snapping as well. It wasn’t as bad for them as it was for Lance, but it still made them feel uneasy, hollow, sometimes even pushing them out of their comfort zones, almost making them break character.

Lance didn’t sleep much, if at all, ate irregularly and much less than he used to, woke up at ungodly hours, went to the training deck of his own volition outside of scheduled training, fighting like a madman-like Keith, whoever found him there sometimes thought-and brooded practically all day-like Keith, whoever found him like that sometimes thought.

Hunk also went to the training deck; maybe at more reasonable times, but he too lost himself in his thoughts quite a lot. He stress-baked whenever he could, whatever he could, and while the Paladins thanked him for all the snacks, it was becoming a bit scary when there was a new batch of whatever the Yellow Paladin had just whipped up every two hours every day.

Pidge did not quite feel lethargic, she rather was suddenly driven to ask questions. Questions she wouldn’t have asked before for the sake of herself and others. But concerning one particular thing, there was just no helping it. Namely, what was written in Keith’s diary? Pidge wanted to know, needed to know, for fuck’s sake, she was the Green Paladin, the insatiably curious one, after all!   
And so, Pidge hid in her lab more often than not, tinkering with stuff, fucking up her already more than unhealthy lifestyle, devising plans on how to read the diary without anyone knowing. She would’ve asked Lance or Shiro, but…well, scratch that. Asking either of them wouldn’t end nicely. With Lance, Pidge fathomed it might’ve ended in maybe even a panic attack, considering what he had told them about the diary’s contents and how he looked while doing that. With Shiro, Pidge couldn’t be sure whether he had even dared to read the diary, considering how shaken he’d been-and was-by Keith leaving. So Pidge concluded she’d need to…borrow the diary. Just for one night. Maybe…today?

Allura and Coran handled the hollow feeling how they’d done it the entire time before. “I’m needed on the bridge.” and “There’s something I’ve got to fix.” became their prime excuses. No one blamed them, no one stopped them; everyone was too busy handling themselves already.

And lastly, there was Shiro. As speculated by Pidge, no one was sure whether the Black Paladin had even read the diary after he’d confiscated it, but somehow they doubted it would have even shown on him anymore; it shouldn’t be humanly possible to look this sad and guilty all at once. The energetic, optimistic leader of Voltron had become a burnt-out husk, a shadow of his former self. No one knew whether Shiro slept, how he slept, how much he slept, not even whether he ate-he seemed to forgo eating for the sake of training and brooding with intensity rivaling Lance’s. He was like a ghost, wandering the halls, the archives and the bridge as if in search of something, and everyone knew what, or rather, who, it was. It was Keith.

And everyone else searched as well.


	5. Deterioration

Ke’Ith had barely moved away from his own pedestal, having come a few steps at most, when yet another detail about the place he found himself in sprung to his attention.

At the front side of each pedestal, taking up the entire space, was a block of text. Upon closer examination of his own pedestal, Ke’Ith saw it was carved directly into the stone, glowing purple from the inside out. Sadly enough, Ke’Ith couldn’t read it-the text was written entirely in Galran, so Ke’Ith was left to wonder what the jagged, closely-packed characters were trying to tell him.

Tracing his hand along them and looking closer, Ke’Ith found some parts of the writing that appeared to make up a timeline, some characters seeming to be numbers, not letters. Were those dates, by chance? Ke’Ith narrowed his eyes and rumbled frustratedly, his apparently reawakened Galra side annoyed with the mystery right before his squinting eyes.

Scanning over the text, Ke’Ith lastly spotted a portion of writing slightly disconnected from the rest, adorned by what he could only deem stylized quotation marks. Were those last words? A fitting quote? Ke’Ith growled and clenched the fist currently unoccupied.

However, he still couldn’t read the text, so he turned and got up. He could guess what the writing contained, but without his powers-and most probably even with them-he’d been defeated by an alignment of letters and numbers. Ke’Ith permitted himself a small amused smirk and went on towards…

Ke’Ith stopped again, awkwardly taking another half step, freezing in realization, petrified by pain. His body refusing to move, muscles held back by his sudden lack of motivation, chained by shock.   
What was happening to him?

Before, he’d been so sure about what to do, but now…  
What was he even doing?  
Everyone else was most likely dead!  
Because he couldn’t stop the blast!  
Because he was too weak!  
And even if he’d finally and for once saved someone, would they take him back in?  
After all, he was nothing more than a walking corpse!  
A walking, powerless corpse!  
He was nothing but dead weight!  
Dead meat!  
Cannon fodder!  
A nothing! A nobody!  
A freak! A monster without purpose!

Ke’Ith giggled, cackled, and it sounded neither healthy nor sane, dryly, crackingly echoing through the mortuary.

Ke’Ith stopped himself at that, opting to slap a hand over his mouth to stop even more from leaking out. “The hell…”, he muttered before dragging a hand over his face.   
What just happened?  
Was he going insane?  
Ke’Ith sighed defeatedly. “Dying definitely wasn’t healthy for me.”  
He would’ve giggled again, but he bit down hard, clenching his teeth shut before any sound made it past his lips. Ke’Ith resumed walking.


	6. Discovery, Sanity, Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you like this chapter?

Had you asked him in hindsight, Ke’Ith wouldn’t be able to tell how much time he spent wandering the cold, dark halls of this place he seemed entrapped in. All alone with nothing but his more and more irrational, he daresay insane, thoughts to keep him company. All alone in the cold. All alone in the dark. His limbs had long since gone numb and stiff, periodically reminding him of his dropping temperature with a brief but painful sting. 

His ears were ringing with the uncomfortable, unnatural silence and he was freezing. The former he combated with marching, or rather staggering, as fast and audible as he managed, but it didn’t help much, especially when considering he could do nothing against the cold clawing at his body. He could’ve done something-had it not been for all his powers and the mental link to his family being gone. He was defenseless, trapped within a world of black stone, dark steel and purple light.

That last thought brought Ke’Ith to pay a little more attention towards his surroundings. When he’d exited the mortuary, he’d only passively taken them in, but now that he had nothing but time…

He hadn’t discerned any pattern for it yet, but the two different styles of architecture he had encountered before were repeating themselves, sometimes making the corridors a bit of a patchwork. 

On one hand there was the classic style Ke’Ith was already used to from aboard the Eternal Empire; dark steel flooring, walls and ceiling, angular columns with integrated purple lights on the walls. 

On the other hand there also was the interior Ke’Ith had seen in the mortuary; black, smooth and polished stone floors, walls and ceilings, massive pillars with purple fire bowls adorning them along the walls, half embedded into the latter in the more narrow halls.

The more Ke’Ith walked, the more time he spent in this boundless maze, the more he felt himself getting desperate. But not just the normal kind of desperation you usually experienced when you died not too long ago while trying to protect your family whom you didn’t know of whether they were still alive or not, all the while wandering through an endless, repetitive expanse-Ke’Ith had to stifle another giggle-no, he was even more desperate than that.

If he didn’t find any clue towards where he or anyone else was, whether there even was anyone else, in time, he knew for a fact he’d truly go insane; he could already hear the small, yet nagging voice in the back of his head telling him to just give in. But he couldn’t.

Because if he did give in, what would become of him? What would be left of him? And would his remains be worth anything? Worth saving? Worth redeeming? Worth being loved?

And so, Ke’Ith clung to his sanity like a shipwrecked to a raft and pushed on.

Luckily enough, he didn’t have to search too long after that. After rounding a corner, he found himself in front of a grand gate, all black, smooth stone, almost seamlessly integrated into the wall, fire bowls left and right of it.

Casting a long look at the blank surface before him, Ke’Ith tried to find a way to get through the gate. No matter where he looked, he couldn’t find any opening, no mechanism, no scanners, no handles.

Walking up to the gate, Ke’Ith put a hand to it, pressing the palm flush to the cold, hard stone and tracing up and down on it, searching for a way to open it.

Thinking back to the inscriptions in the mortuary, Ke’Ith was then overcome by a sudden, strong feeling of Déja vu and could hear and feel the small voice in the back of his head act up again, but he firmly shoved it back where it belonged, back into the depths of his mind, back to where he couldn’t hear it.

Ke’Ith had inspected almost all of the gate, and felt the voice slowly clawing its way back into his conscious thoughts once more when he found something. Near the center of the gate, about at chest height was a panel, even darker and more reflective than the rest of the gate.

How he had initially missed was beyond Ke’Ith, but it felt right to blame it on the voice, seeing how it distracted, almost downright taunted him, grazing the edges of his mind like a prowling predator, plaguing him with something Ke’Ith had grown eerily familiar with by now. Thoughts of Lance. 

Ke’Ith hated it; he loved it. It pained him; thorns in his conscious and unconscious mind all the same. Once again, the longing overwhelmed him, filled his head with all kinds of fantasies, all centered around Lance. It hurt. There would never be a ‘them’, Ke’Ith knew that much, had realized it so long ago he wasn’t even sure what had come first; him falling in love with Lance or him realizing there’d never be peace between them. With a choked hiss, Ke’Ith laid a hand over his heart, fisting wrinkles into the fabric of his bandages while trying to distract himself from the pain and drag his focus back to the matters at hand.

Upon laying his hand on the panel, it flashed a deep purple before a thin strip of identical color wandered over the panel from the top to the bottom. This was a scanner, Ke’Ith deduced following this. A handprint scanner. Exactly what he needed. After all, wherever this led him, it was better than nothing. And nothing he couldn’t bear right now. Or ever.

After the scan was complete and the panel had gone dark again with a low hum, nothing happened for a few moments. The few moments then extended into a few more, and more, and more, and…

“Welcome to the Archives, Lord Ke’Ith.”


	7. A different kind of discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, should you miss it: Here there are two alternating speakers!

Somewhere deep within the Kral Zera Temple, hundreds of meters below the Eternal Flame…

“Another shift there, huh?”  
“…what?”  
“Didn’t you just listen to me?”  
“Nah, zoned out. You talk way too much.”  
“…ahem! As I was saying! The mortuary again? Yordrok must really hate us.”  
“Nah, don’t think so. He’s just lazy and doesn’t want to dirty his own hands, so he lets us do the work. After all, it’s quiznacking cold down here, colder than even on top of this place.”  
“Ah, you might have a point there, Zerax…and there we are! Welcome to the mortuary!”  
“By the ancients, Vork, aren’t you a dramatic little shit…”  
“Hey, don’t insult me, I’m your only friend!”  
“I’m also your only friend!”  
“What? No way! I have plenty of other friends!”  
“For example?”  
“Uhh…”  
“That’s right…you’re stuck with me for all of eternity…”  
“Stars above, someone send help!”  
“Oh come on, I’m not that bad!”  
“Yeah, yeah, say whatever you need to make yourself feel better…”  
“Heh, man, calm down, we’re friends!”  
“Oh? All of a sudden?”  
“Hey! Why’re you allowed to be sarcastic when I’m not allowed to be dramatic?!”  
“Gods, do whatever you want!”  
“Well, that’s reassuring! Thanks!”  
“Now you’re the sarcastic one!”  
“Okay! I’m gonna stop you right there before this escalates! Change of topic!”  
“What?”  
“So, how’s the weather?”  
“…I’m not going to respond to that obviously standard conversation starter…”  
“Ugh, fine! Then what do you think about this smell?”  
“Frankly, it’s disgusting. Can’t we put the corpses-“  
“…yes?”  
“Shh! Look!”  
“Hmm? What? I don’t see anything!”  
“That’s the point! The corpse! Lord Ke’Ith! It- He’s gone!”  
“Oh, quiznack…”  
“So, uhh…what do we do now?”  
“Yordrok is so gonna kick our asses…”  
“Hey! Focus!”  
“I don’t wanna get demoted again…”  
“Vork!”  
“And what will the Emperor say? He’s here after all…”  
“For quiznack’s sake!”  
“Ouch! What was that for?”  
“Listen to me when I’m talking!”  
“But you don’t listen to me either when-ouch! Come on, what the quiznack?”  
“Seriously, we have to find the corpse! But we can’t do that on our own! I’m pinging the lieutenant…”  
“No! Not Yordrok, please-ouch! Ugh, fine then!”


	8. Enigmatic Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry for the last few days! I got a bit of inspiration today, so I was able to write more than enough for the next chapters to be done on time! Enjoy!
> 
> Though I have a question which is extremely important for me to know the answer to (So please comment on this!): Lately, I've felt the chapters I write are more like placeholders or fillers than actual, plot-advancing, interesting pieces of writing...How do you see that? Am I right with this feeling? Am I wrong? If either, why? If yes, how can I possibly fix it? Please answer!
> 
> But now, seriously: Enjoy!

With a long, low rasp and a metallic clang echoing through the massive space it revealed, the gate opened, retracting into the walls.

The sight stunned Ke’Ith into silence and awe, but as he stepped into the mighty expanse spreading itself in front, below, above, right and left of him, he stopped short of the first pair of fire bowls adorning the walls and turned around, confused.

“Lord…?”, Ke’Ith asked into the quiet of the surrounding space, listening to the echo of his voice, becoming more and more puzzled by the second.

Then, as if his prayers for any kind of clue on his whereabouts hadn’t already been answered, someone stepped out from in between two of the many shelves lining the walls and said, “Indeed. You were…”, the figure stopped for a split-tick, thinking, gazing into the distance, “posthumously…ennobled.” Another moment passed as Ke’Ith stared at the man, eyeing him with a mixture of feelings Ke’Ith cautiously labeled as suspicion and disbelief. “For your outstanding deeds in service of the Empire, that is.”, the figure added like an afterthought. Yet another moment passed.

And thus, Ke’Ith resigned himself to comprehending the physical world with a drawn-out, worn-out sigh. He gave the man in front of him another once-over.

He was tall; taller than Ke’Ith; but considering Ke’Ith was smaller than a lot of people, especially here in the Empire-the Galra’s average height must’ve been the one thing Ke’Ith had not inherited-that didn’t exactly come as a surprise. 

The figure also was rather scrawny, if what Ke’Ith could make out beneath the armor and the fabric was anything to go by.

Which brought Ke’Ith to the man’s . The man was wearing a mixture of armor and fabric, all in purple and black, the upper half of his body occupied by the armor, the lower half covered by the fabric, one which spread out onto the ground a little, reminding Ke’Ith of his mom’s robe.

The man’s face was half hidden behind a black mask, and what Ke’Ith saw of his face looked old, ancient even, wise, and tired. The man had pointy ears and just the barest of hair left on the sides of his skull. His eyes were-what else would one expect-neon yellow.

Every small observation Ke’Ith made just furthered his confusion, and as he couldn’t bear it anymore, he voiced the question on the tip of his tongue aloud.

“Who are you?”

The man stared back at him. Briefly.

Then he said, “High Priestess Haggar still has a lot to teach you, hasn’t she…Well, admittedly you did not service the Empire considerably long…One and a half days, and you singlehandedly saved the Empire already…”

The man chuckled dryly, waved dismissively and turned his back towards Ke’Ith. “Follow me, Lord Ke’Ith. There is someone who would be most delighted to meet you-again, that is. Oh, and welcome to my sanctuary.”

And so, as confused as never before, Ke’Ith followed the man, staggering after him to who knew where.

But, prompted by what the man just said, there was one last thing Ke’Ith wanted to know, needed to know, needed to know before the voice in his head regained its strength…

“Did I save anyone? Is my mo-High Priestess Haggar still alive? Or Zarkon? Anyone?”

The man turned back towards Ke’Ith, head tilted and eyes narrowed in surprise at the sudden barrage of questions.

“All in due time, Lord Ke’Ith. There is no need to worry.”

“What does that-“, Ke’Ith wanted to ask, but the other cut him off by walking away.

And so, as confused, as worried, as scared as never before, Ke’Ith followed the man, staggering after him in desperate search for answers he needed as much as the air in his lungs and the blood in his veins.


	9. Past and Pain and Hope

Since his elusive guide unspokenly refused to reveal his identity, Ke’Ith was left to guess who he was being lead deeper into the maze of the Archives by, glare daggers-albeit confused ones-into the back of the other’s head and take a long look around, examining his surroundings, the latter of which he did with renewed awe.

Starting with trying to give himself an overview of the location he currently found himself in, Ke’Ith, all while walking, slowly turned around, tracing the outline of the room with his eyes. Sometimes, his gaze would get stuck on one thing or another, but he forwent those attractions in favor of trying to comprehend where the hell he was; the Archives, sure, it basically was in the name, but still, where? On what planet? In which system? In which galaxy?

But those weren’t the only questions plaguing him, as, on top of the ones he’d just formulated, came those he’d had since he…awoke. Was that the right way to word it? Ke’Ith had no clue whatsoever. What he also had no clue about were the questions whirring around in his head.

Had his death helped save anyone? Ke’Ith still didn’t know, and, seeing as he did not recall his guide to be among the crew of the Eternal Empire, it pained him, the missing piece of knowledge, embedded into his mind like a thorn.

Would his powers come back? And if yes, when? Would he be exiled from the Empire if they didn’t? Or be shunned by his only family? Ke’Ith objectively knew his mom-granted she was still alive-wouldn’t reject him, not after they’d met each other under the most unusual circumstances, not after they’d met after a whole of 18 years, yet he couldn’t help but remind himself of the scared boy he had been-and sometimes still was-in the past, the boy who had been weak, useless, incompetent. His powers had to come back!

How much time had passed since his…Ke’Ith refused to let the word slip off his mental tongue. It was…strange, to think he’d died…not too long ago. On the other hand, what exactly was not too long ago? He’d quite obviously been moved, but then again, where to? And how long did that take?

Ke’Ith huffed and sighed, annoyed, scared and just the littlest of bits curious. He felt like his mind was torturing him with the same matters over and over, like kicking an already beaten opponent when he was on the ground, and he felt like he could and should have known the answers to his questions long, long ago. So, with nothing else to do, he continued to glance around.

From what he could see, the Archives had roughly the same shape as the mortuary. And that was where the similarities ended.

Compared to the mortuary, the Archives’ size had been heavily exaggerated, to the point Ke’Ith was sure they’d be stretching on until well beyond the horizon.

Thinking of the horizon…Ke’Ith looked. And became speechless, the air punched out of him by a display so marvelous he felt an almost childlike wonder being rekindled within him.

Because he could see the night sky.

After all, the Archives’ ceiling was not made of stone, black and swallowing all light, no, gigantic, strutless, gently arched windows permitted an unobstructed view of the stars above, constellations and nebulae he’d never seen before, in all colors imaginable.

Stunned still and silent, gaze fixed upwards, mouth opened just a little, Ke’Ith didn’t notice the man guiding him stop and turn around, eyeing him with a small, knowing smile, not even noticing him when he spoke up.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? You’d think a species that’s been spacefaring for millennia and looking up at the night sky for even longer would have gotten used to such a sight, yet everybody has the same reaction you do.”

Before, caught in his awe, Ke’Ith had briefly forgotten his worries, extinguished by a part of himself he thought long dead-his inner child. The child that was never let out due to his almost complete lack of any normal childhood he could call his own.  
When Ke’Ith thought of childhood, he thought of beatings, belts, starving for days even though food was within arm’s reach, yelling, having to sleep on the floor, in the basement, in the closet, not sleeping at all, being forced to tell everyone you were okay when you were clearly not, more beatings, more yelling, the smell of alcohol dusting over his shoulder, down his neck, more starving, less sleeping, and then…Shiro.

Shiro and Adam. The small flat on Garrison grounds they called their home. Cooking together. Studying together. Competing in the simulator. The praise. The encouraging looks. Hugs. His own bed. His own room. Belongings that wouldn’t be taken from him just because. But then…the fights.

Shiro insisting on going to Kerberos. Adam refusing, not wanting to let him go. Shiro’s terminal disease. Keith being caught up in the middle of it. Keith blaming himself. Coming home late. Dropping scores. Lance and his rivalry. The glares. The jabs. The fights. Shiro bailing him out. Guilt. Yelling. Slamming doors. And then…

Shiro leaving. Betrayal. Feeling left out. Singled out. No friends. Adam not talking to him. Blaming himself for it. Mission failure. Pilot error. Another fight. Being kicked out of the Garrison. Not even Adam waving him a goodbye. His future gone. And then…

Living in the desert. Scorching days. Freezing nights. Little water. No food. No money. Stealing. Starving again. Being bitten by venomous animals and laying around, waiting for a death that wouldn’t come. Being crushed by hopelessness, loneliness. Fever. Haze. Throwing up. Hot. Cold. Reliving trauma. Nightmares. No comfort. But then…

Energy. Restless. Must find. Strange rock formations. Caves. Carvings. Lion. And then…

Shiro. Tonight. Must rescue. Punching scientists. Lance and his friends. Crashing in his shed. Plan. Finding. Voltron. And then…

Family. Belonging. The beginnings of warmth. Love. But then…

Abandonment. Betrayal. Rejection. Weakness. Inadequacy. Blame. Guilt.

Ke’Ith didn’t even realize he’d started crying, tears silently rolling down his cheeks, mouth twisted shut by pain, bottom lip quivering.

Ke’Ith’s guide stared at him for a tick, taken aback. Then he shuffled closer.

But the sound alerted Ke’Ith, who whipped around, still crying, eyes red rimmed. And, as if prompted by his sudden movement, Ke’Ith’s resolve crumbled, caved in, a single, strangled, whimpering sob escaping him.

The other man froze at the sound. Never, in the more than ten millennia of his live, had he heard such a sound. It was so full of pain that had yet to be tended to, he wasn’t sure what to do. Thus, he stood in front of Ke’Ith unsurely, one arm half outstretched, wearing a look of genuine confusion and compassion on his face.

“Are you…alright…Lord Ke’Ith?”, he asked simply, his mind going blank with the nervousness an unprecedented situation always brought with it.

Ke’Ith was positively mortified. And he was sure he’d looked the part too. To cry this openly, from something as dumb as hazy memories…Ke’Ith furiously wiped at his eyes and bit his lower lip to stop it from wobbling, trying to hold another sob, hell, a whole flood of them, in…

Shakily breathing in and out as deeply as he could without breaking apart this instant, Ke’Ith regained his bearings, the world becoming less hazy and blurry, his heart painstakingly slowly stopping to feel as if it were to stop beating yet jumping out of his chest all the same.

When he was somewhat under his own, conscious control again, Ke’Ith took the arm away from his face and attempted a determined gaze. He didn’t know how well it was executed, but by the look on the other’s face, it sufficed to make clear to him Ke’Ith didn’t want to talk about it.

“Let us…go on then…”, his guide stated into the following quiet, still and clearly shaken a bit himself.

They marched in total silence for a while. A short while.

Then, seemingly aiming to distract Ke’Ith, his guide began telling him about the curiosities around. Though making a point not to look up and not reacting to the other man’s explanations at all, Ke’Ith still passively took in his surroundings, noting the black steel shelves left and right, holding books, scrolls, folders, datapads of all shapes and sizes, glass cabinets holding weapons, masks, ragged clothes, relics, armor, the fire bowls on the dark stone walls, their purple fire seeming warm and inviting for once, the purple banners and tapestries in between. Had it not been for his diminished interest and the flashback he just had, he would’ve probably stayed and stared once more.

But so, he just passively listened as he was told where he was: In the Archives of the Kral Zera temple on the planet of Feyiv, listening to The Archivist.

After marching for even more time than Ke’Ith would’ve managed to count in his state, the two arrived in front of a door reminding Ke’Ith of the gate he’d passed to enter the Archives.

The Archivist pressed a hand to a spot near the center of the gate, on chest height-just like the other gate, Ke’Ith thought-and let the scanner do its work, flashing purple and scanning the Archivists’ handprint.

The scanner completed its task a few ticks later with a low hum and powered down.

Just briefly, silence enveloped the two men.

Then, the gate slowly slid open.

“Welcome to High Priestess Haggar’s private chambers on Feyiv, Archivist.”

From somewhere on the other side, far away somewhere on the dark corridor Ke’Ith now found before him, a voice interrupted the announcement, before Ke’Ith had any time to comprehend what the announcement implied.  
“I don’t have time now! Come back later, Archivist!”, the voice snapped, seemingly angry. But Ke’Ith, having heard the exact same tone on himself way too many times before, heard the underlying pain, as if detecting it was his second nature.

And that voice was-

Ke’Ith stepped into the darkness of the corridor, squinting to see a purple glow emanating from behind an open door somewhere down the way.

“Mom?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me how you like this chapter! Is it good? If yes, why? Do you like that angst attack I built into the chapter?


	10. The end of chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought this was going to be a day without an upload, but it was me, DIO!
> 
> (Pls don't kill me for that joke)
> 
> Okay, jokes aside, I'm sorry for yesterday! I hope the length of the chapter makes up for the missed deadline, but if not, feel free to suggest what I can do to make up for it!
> 
> There are also a few things I'd like, or rather, need to know:  
> -Since I'm not great with emotional scenes: How was this scene? Was it emotional enough? Did I clearly convey what the characters felt?  
> -I feel like I've used certain words a little too often (like 'after all' and 'tighter'): Is that true? If yes, does it disturb the reading flow? If no, is it just bearable or unnoticeable?
> 
> Please, if you have something to say, write it! I need feedback, especially on these last things!
> 
> Now enjoy!

Guilt. And pain.

Survivor’s guilt. And torture.

That was what had started defining Honerva’s life two days ago.

She’d never felt guiltier.

Not when she’d killed her first victim.

Not when she’d helped establish the Empire’s universe-wide rule, subjugating peoples after peoples. 

Not when she’d left Ke’Ith and his father back on Earth-though admittedly, it came closer to what she felt right now than anything else, even if it was done at the time to protect Ke’Ith and gift him a life far from the raging tides of war and conquest.

No, Honerva felt guilty because she had survived. And Ke’Ith had not.

And it wasn’t just that he’d died while she hadn’t; he had actively sacrificed himself, guided by his instincts, thrown himself in front of her in the last possible moment, shielding her from the majority of the blast.

Guilt. And pain.

Honerva hated it, yet she wasn’t even allowed, or even able, to properly grieve.

None and nothing gave her a break; not the war, not the Emperor, not her responsibilities-new rituals this, more refined fuel that, more research there, less weakness here-Honerva wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to keep up with the dizzyingly fast pace her work came at her anymore; by now, she already had other Druids cover half her daily matters, and even though she felt more than bad about it and tried to make up for the lost time where- and however she could, she needed the extra vargas; to mourn, to grieve, to even just attempt to do so, to realize that now, she’d truly lost both her sons-either figuratively or literally.

 

Guilt. And pain.

That was what went straight out of the window when Honerva heard the voice.

Her first instinct and thought was to call it a trick. A prank Lotor had cooked up-she’d more than trust him to do this; or maybe she was just sleeping and dreamt of Ke’Ith being magically resurrected. She had to be dreaming-after all, she’d been the one to cradle her younger sons’ fragile, rapidly cooling form to her chest when she’d resurfaced from a short and dreamless unconsciousness after the blast hit her.

But then, there was some low muttering at the gate she still couldn’t see; in her previous surprise and shock, she hadn’t taken a single step out of her lab, much like the other Druids present.

No one had stepped past the threshold of the open door to cast a look down the corridor, to see why the Archivist dared disturb them-they’d made it clear they wanted-needed-peace and quiet-both for their experiments and their mourning-before already.  
Alas, nobody needed to move, because, as they stood still, frozen awkwardly within the circle they stood in, arms raised, but heads turned, two different gaits echoed down to them.

Two.

Not just one.

Not just the Archivist.

Honerva was almost ashamed at the foolish, childish hope blooming within her chest, warming her heart where it should’ve stayed cold and hard-it’d just hurt more, whoever may come down that hall.

But then, the two figures rounded the open door to her lab. One was The Archivist, looking the exact same he did for the past ten millennia, the other however…

Honerva turned around now, arms lowered, posture sagging, tension and sorrow draining from her.

“Ke’Ith?”

Her son stood there, bandaged in black, his pall wrapped around him, a few loose lengths of cloth clenched in one fist. He was shaking and shivering and there were dried tear tracks on his red, blotchy and unhealthily pale face. Strangely enough, even Ke’Ith’s eyes had changed color, now being a glowing, stinging white.

But Honerva didn’t care.

Because her son was back.

This was not a prank.

And it was way too detailed for a dream-for the ‘dreams’ that usually plagued Honerva anyways.

A small sniffle escaped her and she uselessly wiped at her eyes, smiling sadly, relievedly, happily-she couldn’t decide.

But she didn’t care about that either, as in the next moment, she all but launched herself at her son, teleporting right in front of him and scooping him up, tightly pressing her face into his shoulder.

“Ke’Ith!”, she cried out, hugging and holding onto him even more unyieldingly, intent on giving him all the warmth he’d ever need, both bodily and mentally, whimpering and purring in pure relief.

“Mom!”, Ke’Ith answered likewise, responding with a purr of his own, crying into the side of Honerva’s neck.

The two, not having the strength to stand anymore, both being drained by the sorrow they’d previously experienced, slowly sunk to the ground. It may have been cold and hard, yet they didn’t mind.

But then, they were being scooped up again, this time by the other Druids who engulfed mother and son in a group hug, almost drowning them in warmth and questions and exclamations.

“How?”

“What the-?”

“Ke’Ith!”

“By the ancients, you’re back!”

“Two days-!”

The cuddle pile stayed like that for a long time, not daring to move, enjoying sharing body heat and the knowledge that they were all alive and well.

Somewhere along the way, The Archivist must have excused himself, as he wasn’t standing in the doorstep anymore, and everyone silently thanked him for his attentiveness while Honerva and Ke’Ith hushedly exchanged comfort, excuses, reassurances, vows and much more.

“Shh, you’re alright now, you’re save, c’mere…”

“I’m sorry, Ke’Ith, I’m sorry, I should have watched out for you better…”

“It’s okay…I’m back, aren’t I?”

“You are…But I’ll never let you get hurt again!”

But then, as Ke’Ith leaned back to reciprocate that last vow, he looked at his mother, smiling, laughing, tearing up and sniffling all the same, and he realized there was something he just had to say. Something important. Something he never had the chance nor inclination to say the previous eighteen years.

“Mom?”

“Yes, Ke’Ith?”

“I love you!”, Ke’Ith said, smiling and hugging Honerva even tighter, outright nuzzling into her shoulder.

His mom, however, went rigid against him, tense and stiff, moving away from Ke’Ith to gape at him.

And Ke’Ith, sensing her move and shift, tensed up himself, momentarily held onto her even more than before, realizing what her posture implied, recoiled with fear, the voice in the back of his head coming back all of a sudden, whispering to him, mocking him, maddening him, saddening him.

Was this confession too much? Had he gone overboard with it? Had he been overbearing?

Didn’t his mom love him back? She had shown that she did-should-but what of it was reflecting reality?

Shouldn’t he have said that? Was she angry with him? Had he overstepped a boundary he didn’t know about?

But as Ke’Ith looked up, full of fear and anticipation of rejection, full of guilt and regret, he found the nightmares his mind had procured to be entirely unfounded.

After all, before his very eyes, his mother, High Priestess of the Galra Empire, stared at him with tear-filled eyes, her bottom lip trembling, mouth pulled upwards into a smile that made even the sun itself pale in comparison. 

And after nuzzling back into his shoulder, hugging tighter yet more comfortable than ever before, Honerva uttered the words Ke’Ith didn’t even know until just now he’d longed for so much.

“I love you too.”

The stayed like that for a while, quietly purring to each other before his mom came with a follow-up excuse as well.

“Sorry for my initial reaction,”, she said, her voice becoming smaller and smaller until it was nothing more than a vulnerable whisper, “I just thought I’d never hear you say these words…Not after…”

Ke’Ith gently shushed her. “It’s okay, mom, after all, I love you!”

And like that, Ke’Ith heard the other Druids coo, her mom hugging him even tighter, her heartbeat stuttering, and her purring taking on a pleased, almost proud undertone.

 

After that, their peace was disturbed relatively quickly as one very well-known voice boomed down the corridor, underlined by the fast, rhythmic thundering of heavy boots on steel floor.

“Haggar!”, none other than Zarkon himself called out, “Your son is-!“. Zarkon rounded the still open door to the lab, flanked by a detachment of soldiers-and saw the Druids caught up in a group hug.

The Emperor narrowed his eyes and stood rigid, stopping mid-stride.

“What is this?”, he demanded, gesturing harshly.

“Well, my Emperor,”, Honerva quipped from somewhere in the middle of the Druids, relaxed and content, “contrary to what you just wanted to say, my son is not gone.”

Following a nudge through their psychic bond, the Druids stepped aside, revealing Ke’Ith.

Zarkon stared, deadpanned, looked almost surprised himself.

But then, he began laughing, loud and wholeheartedly, tipping his head back and closing his eyes, having to use his arms to stop himself from falling over.

“Stars above,”, he wheezed between laughs, “it seems we are not the only ones granted a second chance by the Great Qualifiers!”

Ke’Ith perked up at that. “You met them as well?”, he asked.

Bellowing out one last bark of amusement and wiping a tear of joy from the corner of his eye, Zarkon went back to seriousness.

“Indeed.”, he simply confirmed, nodding almost enthusiastically. “Come, you must tell me everything!”, he urged, and he sounded…genuinely interested? Ke’Ith was surprised, yet, as he thought about it, it fit Zarkon rather well, being interested in the least anticipated thing, with that being death, gods, the afterlife. But then again, that much could’ve been anticipated, with Zarkon being interested in the things that he was so intent on avoiding they were outright out of his reach.

Thus, Honerva and Ke’Ith got up, still arm in arm, and , albeit unsurely, strode after their Emperor, who, with a jerk of his arm, ordered both the Druids and the soldiers that had come with him to resume their duties.

And as the three walked past the gate to his mom’s private labs which shut behind them with a loud, echoing boom, Ke’Ith couldn’t help but compare the sound to that of a book being clapped closed. He recognized the feeling behind that rather well by now; another chapter of his life had ended. He had been given a second chance at life, and he was fully intent on using it to its fullest!


	11. After effect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, surprise! I mixed up the dates! I'm going on vacation tomorrow, not today! So here you go! The longest chapter I've ever written! And it contains something which contradicts the summary of part 2 (Don't worry, I've already noticed that, and will update the summary as soon as I think up something better!)!
> 
> This chapter, just like every other I've ever published, isn't beta read-and on top of that, it was written rather hastily, so please point out any and all mistakes I made!
> 
> I also hope the length of this chapter makes up for the missed deadline that was yesterday and the missing second chapter I promised (This one just exploded so much in word count and required effort I didn't have the time, sorry!)!
> 
> In any case, enjoy! :)

This was weird. No, actually, Ke’Ith soon and very firmly decided, this was weird in a terrifying way. 

Because Zarkon of all people, evil alien imperialist dictator par excellence, was nice to him. To him and his mother.

And as far as it went and seemed, Zarkon was genuinely nice to them; whenever either Ke’Ith or Honerva stumbled or had to choke back the remnant of a sob, whenever either of them had to catch their more than short breath-they’d just been crying in each other’s arms, after all-or had to stop to wipe their eyes, Zarkon broke his stride, not only letting Ke’Ith and his mom catch up to him, but also smiling at them supportively. 

And if Ke’Ith’s eyes didn’t deceive him, the Emperor must have been either a phenomenal actor or been genuinely worried; there was something more than just akin to concern shining in his eyes whenever he turned around to his wife and his step-son.

So, in conclusion, yes, it was safe to say Ke’Ith was a little terrified and definitely very concerned. To suddenly experience this…this compassion from someone he hadn’t even thought capable of said emotion was…worrying.

Additionally, it appeared Zarkon had forgotten how exactly smiles worked in the last 10.000 years. All in all, Ke’Ith wouldn’t be very surprised if Zarkon hadn’t smiled even once in the last ten millennia before his recent laughing fit.

However that may have been, Zarkon’s smile reached his eyes, yet it didn’t. There was worry speaking out of his posture, concern in his eyes, support from his quirked mouth, but it was…all wrong, like two mismatching puzzle pieces jammed together, desperately trying to bend to give in to the respective other, making the whole thing look unnatural.

Because, really, it was. Zarkon didn’t smile; that much should have remained fact.

What truly remained fact though, and made Ke’Ith’s stomach churn with uneasy wariness, downright terrified nervousness, was that his powers were still gone; Ke’Ith felt like a part of himself had been irreplaceably taken, not to be returned in any way or form. The subconscious reassurance of being strong, the potential to become even stronger, as well as the presence of his family in the back of his head, were gone.

So, in conclusion, and revising Ke’Ith’s earlier thoughts, yes, it was safe to say he was absolutely terrified of whatever was to come. Because he had to tell the Emperor, had to tell his mom, had to tell them how, once again, he’d become useless. Useless to any- and everybody. 

Would Zarkon and his mother even want him around anymore after he told them? This wasn’t something to lie about; he couldn’t keep quiet, couldn’t fake anything; no amount of training would suffice, no rituals bring his strength, his key to staying in the Empire, back.

And so, he and his mother, guided by their Emperor, stumbled forwards through endless corridors, corridors Ke’Ith could sworn to have crossed once before already, corridors he’d most definitely never seen before and corridors he’d most likely never see again.

Wherever Zarkon was leading them, there was yet another thing that was weird. And this time, without any underlying implications; this was just plain weird.

The longer the trio walked, the more banners adorned the walls, and, passing a certain point Ke’Ith would have been unable to determine at any given time, even as they still walked, there even were things akin to…propaganda material…on the walls.

Ke’Ith saw posters, carvings, paintings, hell, at one point he could’ve sworn to have seen graffiti-though heavily stylized and most definitely instrumentalized for more than mere vandalism.

Ke’Ith saw letterings in Galran spanning entire walls, menacing walls of text carved directly into the stone of the walls, highlighted with blocks of white paint around them, he saw posters detailing triumph and posters retelling defeat, he saw-

Voltron.

One poster in the ocean of paper and paint. Showing the Paladins.

Ke’Ith stopped right in his tracks, involuntarily halted by a new surge of pain and a red-hot wave of anger.

Ke’Ith growled and bared his teeth, distracting himself from the pain and fanning the flames of his rage to equal parts. After all, the poster didn’t show the Paladins before Ke’Ith’s leave, no, it showed them afterwards; it showed that Ke’Ith had been replaced, had been forgotten, cast aside; in the end, he couldn’t even find it in himself to resent them for that; they’d done him a favor, if he were to be honest!

Now he just had to find out who the Paladin in the pink armor was…

In the meantime-actually immediately-Zarkon and Honerva had reacted to Ke’Ith’s growl, stopped walking, turned around and followed Ke’Ith’s line of sight.

“Ah yes, the Paladins…”, Zarkon scoffed, making Ke’Ith zone in on his talking without turning his head, only to have Zarkon turn towards him.

“It seems you have already been replaced, Ke’Ith…”, the Emperor then added, like an afterthought, turning again, this time towards the poster.

“By whom?”, Ke’Ith snapped frostily, not caring in the slightest who he was talking to, still staring at the paper mocking him with its mere existence and the facts it presented. 

Though he narrowed his eyes in displeasure, the Galran Emperor answered. “You have been replaced”, he said, repeatedly putting great emphasis to that last word, ”by Princess Allura, or so it appears.”

Now it was Ke’Ith’s turn to scoff. “Of course, of course, of course she’d step up as soon as I was out of the way!”, Ke’Ith muttered, giggling to himself before he could shut out the voice.

Giggling a little more, he then inquired, “And which Lion does she pilot?”

Upon hearing his laughter, Zarkon and Honerva froze, petrified by the insanity speaking out of the sound that freely bubbled from Ke’Ith’s throat. The two exchanged a worried glance, Honerva’s eyes open wide in alarm, Zarkon frowning, eyes narrowed in displeased surprise.

Honerva reached out with one arm, gently touching Ke’Ith’s shoulder, urging him to turn around. “Ke’Ith, are you-“

Incentivized by the light nudge on his shoulder, Ke’Ith whirled around, with a smirk on his lips and such wildness and insanity in his eyes his mother couldn’t help but recoil, staring at him, her mouth half-open and her eyes still wide with terror.

“Ke’Ith, what-?”

At Honerva’s shock, Ke’Ith suddenly blinked and coughed as if awakening from a daze, his previously clouded eyes clearing; as if a curse had been lifted off him.

“I-“, Ke’Ith began, then coughed once more, “What just-“ Another coughing fit made him double over and sink to the ground, Honerva going down with him.

“Ke’Ith!”

Several minutes went by after that as Ke’Ith-for the most part fruitlessly-tried to control his coughing, and-after they’d thought it’d finally been over for the first time-his retching. Something was clogging up his throat; something uncomfortably, downright painfully big that made him desperately gasp for air; something that burned and prickled and promised nothing good; something that made him whimper while salty tears stung in his eyes.

Honerva noticed her son’s expression as soon as she bowed down to him; there was a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, making his bangs stick to it haphazardly and his mouth was quirked downwards and pinched tightly shut.

Honerva knew that expression. Rubbing her son’s back and brushing his hair out of her face, she gently whispered to him, “It’s alright, Ke’Ith. Let it out.”

Ke’Ith silently shook his head, eyes transfixed on one spot on the ground, as if Ke’Ith was intently trying to distract himself from whatever he tried not to throw up. His tears finally spilled over, and Honerva could see his adam’s apple bobbing.

Briefly looking up, she also saw the Emperor barking something into the comm on his wrist, but then her attention immediately shifted back to Ke’Ith. Trying to ease his tension, she gently guided his hand shielding his mouth away from it and continued talking to him, “Hey, hey. It’s okay. You’ll feel better if you let it out.”

That seemed to convince Ke’Ith, as he got onto his hands and knees and accepted his fate, opening his mouth and throwing up.

Blood.

Dark-red blood.

Lots of it.

Ke’Ith was vomiting blood. For a moment, that was all Honerva could see, hear and smell-the thick, almost syrupy liquid and its coppery smell kicking her motherly instincts into over drive despite being able to do next to nothing.

Summoning a bowl for her son to throw up into-his hands and knees were soaked and caked in red already-she wrapped an arm around his middle, leaned forward to try and soothe him however she could with whispered nothings and tried to sift through his Quintessence, feeling for whatever may be wrong with it.

And when Honerva did, she could just barely abstain from giving in to her reflexes and recoiling.

It was all…so wrong. And out of place. Nothing fit. It was a mess….Ke’Ith’s Quintessence was all over the place, in shambles, ruined, swirling about in a chaotic, self-destructive maelstrom…

Honerva didn’t know what to say, so all she could do was breathe a simple, agonized, “Oh, Ke’Ith…what happened to you?”

Then, suddenly realizing she couldn’t help her son-at least not like this, not immediately-she looked up to the Emperor.

“My Emperor, he needs-“

“I have already called for a doctor.”, Zarkon interrupted her, narrowing his eyes and holding up a hand, all while looking at Honerva with a gaze she couldn’t interpret for the life of her.

What she could interpret however, was the look Ke’Ith received the next moment; Zarkon stared at him like someone in worry over a prized possession would.

And Honerva didn’t like it, hated it, this look that made all her instincts scream at her to do something, anything.

But there was nothing she could do right now-and she hated that as well; she hated that, unlike the doctor who just now came sprinting around a corner in these endless corridors, she couldn’t do a thing to ensure her son lived or do whatever possible to counteract whatever was happening to him right now.

Rushing in closer, the doctor hastily saluted Zarkon, then skidded to a halt next to Ke’Ith and Honerva herself.

“Any idea what could be amiss, High Priestess?”, he asked as he crouched down and spread out the tools he had brought with him in the bag he haphazardly discarded behind himself, cutting right to the chase.

Honerva shook her head. “He’s…his Quintessence is…”, she broke off, cursing herself or her lack of words, “Doctor, I’ve never seen anything like this…”

“I see.”, the doctor answered, acknowledging her answer and dragging a gloved hand over his mask, “Would you mind unhanding him to permit proper examination?”

“Of course not.”; Honerva responded, trying to extract herself from the proximity to Ke’Ith, even though all her instincts yelled at her in a deafening cacophony, telling her to not let go of her son at any cost.

But then Ke’Ith whimpered and whined and his own, blood-stained hand shot forward, pulling her close again and Honerva found that she couldn’t pull away again, for nothing in the world.

“I see.”, the doctor said again, picking up an empty syringe and leaning down much like Honerva to talk to Ke’Ith. “Sir, if you wouldn’t mind, I need your arm to acquire a blood sample.”

Seemingly biting back more blood, Ke’Ith shook his head. “…hate nee’les…”, he slurred, rasped; it sounded absolutely pitiful and just made Honerva all the more distraught over both his and her helplessness.

“Ke’Ith, it’s for your best, please, your arm.”, she pleaded, trying to help wherever she could.

Ke’Ith shook his head again and coughed. “S’mbody said tha’ before this once-they”, Ke’Ith coughed weakly once more, “they lied…would’ve-would’ve made me braindead…”

Honerva grimaced when she realized what Ke’Ith was talking about. “Oh Ke’Ith…it isn’t like that. Not this time, I swear.”, she said, then asked, “Do you trust me? Your mom? I won’t lie to you, and I won’t leave you either. Never again, I promise.” 

And though Honerva could’ve sworn to hear Ke’Ith mumble something akin to “People pr’mised things before…”, he obediently stuck out the arm that didn’t desperately cling onto his mother. As the needle pierced his skin and the doctor drew blood, Ke’Ith sharply winced and held onto Honerva even tighter, for dear life even, but he didn’t pull away.

“Good boy.”, Honerva soothed her son and started rubbing his back again, seemingly helping him swallow down whatever was rising up his throat, as the doctor inserted the blodd sample into a portable scanner and waited for the results.

Which arrived with a beep a moment later, making the doctor freeze upon looking at them. The man swallowed audibly, then turned towards Ke’Ith.

“Sir, you are…uh…”

The man dragged a hand over his mask once again, cutting himself off and starting anew.

“Sir, you are…you are dying.”


	12. Getting a move on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I'm back!
> 
> I hope you didn't lose interest in this story while I wrestled the newly started school and all the work it brought with it as well as some writer's block!
> 
> Anyways, here you go!
> 
> Enjoy! (And review!(Please!)) :)

Without pause, without fail, without any of the former whatsoever, Zarkon and Honerva reacted to the doctor’s conclusion. They reacted violently, almost as if to make up for Ke’Ith’s continued inability to do so; the young Druid was still on his knees, surrounded by his mother and the doctor and still coughing, whimpering and clinging to Honerva.

“What now?!”, Zarkon exclaimed, straightening himself to his full height and striding over to his three subordinates kneeling on the ground, a surprised, disbelieving, nigh disapproving frown etched into his face.

“He’s…dying?”, came the much more timid, yet also much more shocked reaction from Honerva; whereas Zarkon looked like he was in worry about some asset to his Empire, something he’d hate to see irreplaceably lost or damaged-though that concern was carefully hidden behind a mask of seemingly genuine worry-Honerva had adopted a wide-eyed, alarmed stare which she flicked around the hall in a close to furious manner. Simultaneously, she gripped her son’s arm and hand much harder, not intending to let go under any circumstance, and nudged him closer towards her, almost guiding the still coughing boy into her lap.

Speaking of which, Ke’Ith had yet to react to the diagnosis. Although his vomiting had ceased-greatly relieving Honerva since that meant he was not coughing up blood anymore-his eyes remained screwed shut and teary while the only coherent sounds he could wring out of himself between his coughing fits were groans and whimpers.

“How much time does he have left, doctor?”, the far more level-headed Zarkon then asked, ripping Honerva out of her thoughts. She nodded in accordance, looking at the doctor from the side; the masked Galra’s head was upturned towards the Emperor.

Had Zarkon not asked, she herself would have just a split-tick later.

What however would not have taken, respectively did not take a split-tick, was the doctor’s response; the man dragged a hand over his mask and silently stared at the equipment laid out in front of him, looking up and down the graphs on his portable scanner.

Ticks passed, maybe even an entire dobosh, as the obviously increasingly nervous doctor tried to find an answer, looking up and down the graphs on his portable scanner. And while Ke’Ith slowly calmed down in that period of time, slightly cracking open his eyes again and slowly sliding away from the puddle of blood beneath him, the Galran High Priestess and the Galran Emperor became increasingly impatient and agitated by the Doctor’s lack of response.

Right before the second dobosh passed, right before Honerva’s patience snapped, right before even Zarkon himself seemed to want to speak up, the doctor audibly cleared his throat, dragged a hand over his mask and said, sounding apologetic but resolute, “Forgive me, my Emperor, forgive me, High Priestess, but that I cannot tell. Not without further examination, that is.”

Zarkon narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms before uncrossing them again and waving a hand, motioning Ke’Ith, Honerva and the doctor to get up. Dragging the former’s arms onto their shoulders, the latter two did and waited with bated breath for their Emperor’s explanation.

Which he provided almost immediately. Simply stating, “I see.”, Zarkon turned around and resumed his earlier long strides, once again motioning his three subordinates with him. 

Another moment followed before the Emperor also offered, “We are going to continue this in my quarters. We were en route towards them anyways.”

The doctor, now supporting Ke’Ith’s left side, took a quick breath and seemed on the verge of arguing that decision when Zarkon raised a hand once more, silencing the man behind him to allow himself the opportunity of drawling, “I trust you will be able to wheel your equipment over to my chambers from the medical bay, doctor. Request the Imperial Guard’s help if need be, but there are matters needing to be conversed about in the privacy of my chambers.”

The doctor, finding not just his protest, but also himself stunned silent, nodded and added a brief, “Of course, my Emperor.” Other than that, though, he focused on dragging Ke’Ith along, and so did Honerva.

Meanwhile, however, Ke’Ith slowly regained his coherence. Accompanied by a string of groans and sighs, he blinked through the tears in his eyes, the disgusting raw- and stickiness of his throat and mouth as well as the dull pounding in his head; the latter of which was only worsened by them walking.

“Wh’r we goin’?”, he slurred, half-lidded eyes falling shut again and head freely lolling onto his mom’s shoulder.

“Rest up, Ke’Ith.”, Honerva calmly and evenly responded, tilting her own head to let it rest on top of Ke’Ith’s, “We’re going to the Emperor’s private suite. The doctor will continue examining you there.”

“Hhnngg…”, Ke’Ith groaned, taking note of what his mother just said even though he couldn’t care less considering his weakened state.

“Speaking of which, doctor.”, Honerva then spoke, “I think it might for the best if you went ahead and fetched your equipment now to save time. I can carry Ke’Ith on my own.”

The doctor didn’t speak for a moment, looking between Ke’Ith, Honerva and Zarkon, apparently unsure what to do and what to say.

“My Emperor?”, he finally asked, turning towards Zarkon with a slight, questioning tilt of his head.

The Galran Emperor broke his stride and turned around, his eyes narrowing and expression pinching, deep in thought. Then, in an almost character-breaking way, Zarkon’s expression softened into an edgeless mask-that much Honerva could spot after 10.00 years by the side of this man who had never been himself again since he died in the Quintessence rift so very long ago-of approval.

“I agree with Haggar’s reasoning. Go ahead, doctor, go collect your equipment.”, Zarkon then said, waving a hand to make the doctor hasten out of the grip he’d held Ke’Ith in. Carefully guiding Ke’Ith’s other arm around for Honerva to hold onto it-arguably, the Galran High Priestess held her half-conscious son a little tighter than what was necessary, but still made sure to pick him up as gently as she could, enabling him to loosely wrap his arms around her neck and his legs around her middle-the doctor retreated, hastily saluting the Emperor before vanishing into one of the many corridors, his rapid footfall soon merging with the nothingness that was the background noises in the guts of the Kral Zera temple.

And right into that nothingness, Ke’Ith slurred, “Mom,”, while tugging on the hood of her robe ever so slightly, “wh’t’s happenin’ t’ me?”

Honerva audibly swallowed down her first instinct that arose from within her at the sound of her son’s voice, with that first instinct being bursting into tears and crushing Ke’Ith in a hug that she could only hope told it all already, without her actually having to tell him with words she could only assume would get stuck in her throat.

But that instinct wouldn’t have helped anyone; Honerva had to be strong now, stronger than that vile, cowardly part of her the last 10.000 years had helped hatch and develop, strong enough to tell Ke’Ith the truth and be there for him when and if he needed it.

Honerva shot a look towards Zarkon. The Galran Emperor still stood there, unmoving, expression still soft, stance almost relaxed. Then, Zarkon gave a brief, but encouraging nod, turning around in the process and walking again towards his private quarters, giving a wave over his shoulder, motioning his de-jure-wife and -step-son to follow him.

Which Honerva did, watchful of not jostling Ke’Ith too much, already aware of his pounding head.

And then, a moment later, when she’d gathered the courage to answer Ke’Ith’s question, she said, “Ke’Ith…you’re…”; Honerva held her son impossibly closer, reaching up with one hand to stroke the back of his head, collecting herself to utter the final words, “you’re dying.”


	13. Grief-However many stages of it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all honesty, this chapter seems like nothing but a filler to me...I'm sorry if the same'll be true for you…But I also don't want you to have to wait so agonizingly long for a new chapter every time! In the next one we'll get back to meaningful plot, I promise (for all my promises are worth, anyway)!
> 
> Leave a kudos and a comment if you liked this chapter regardless-it helps me a whole lot! Thanks in advance! :)

Honerva knew the five stages of grief from her time on Earth. She knew what came first, she knew what came last, she knew what came in between. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. That was how it was supposed to be.

Honerva also knew two other models, with that being the Altean model as well as the Galra one. These however were more commonly known truths instead of scientifically founded generalizations. Additionally, these models were rather similar to, yet also decidedly differing from the human model.

The Altean model forwent both denial and anger almost completely, instead having much longer bargaining and depression phases; had Ke’Ith been a pureblooded Altean like she had been at one point, he probably would’ve gone silent and mentally curled inward, pondering and mulling over how this could’ve happened and how to possibly reverse it.

The Galran model, on the other hand, didn’t know a thing such as bargaining, and neither did it know denial. No, instead, had Ke’Ith been fully Galran, he most likely would’ve jumped out of Honerva’s hold, roaring with anger and screaming bloody murder, demanding to know who did this to him before collapsing under his own weight like a house of cards of emotions.

All of that knowledge, all of these observations that Honerva had acquired and made quintants, movements, phoebes or even deca-phoebes before Ke’Ith’s birth then, as she watched her son lean back, away from her, mouth open in a silent gasp, eyes darting about, amounted to what surprised her, made her mad with worry, yet let her rest with calm assurance.

In all honesty, it was like watching the last seconds of a crumbling house of cards, with the only differences being that this one had actually already collapsed, and that it was more of a mental, genetical, maybe even quintessential house of cards.

After all, as Honerva looked at Ke’Ith, seeing how he struggled to find the right words-or rather, any words at all-a kaleidoscope of emotions flashing over his face, his grip on her occasionally loosening, then tightening, then the other way around in an almost desperate manner, she saw-briefly looking through Quintessence vision as well-how even Ke’Ith’s very core disagreed with him- and itself.

Obviously enough, the human in Ke’Ith wanted to deny what he’d just been told, wanted to deny that he was dying, wanted to deny what the doctor had concluded just a few ticks, maybe a full dobosh ago.

But then again, both the Altean and the Galra within Ke’Ith seemingly favored different approaches to the matter of him dying; Honerva could very clearly see the hurt, the resignation, the sheer horror in both Ke’Ith’s eyes and expression, just as much as she could see the anger, the hatred and the nigh primal need for revenge.

“I-“, Ke’Ith stuttered, “What-why?”, he audibly gulped, “Who? A-and how?” A myriad of emotions grazed the lines of his face, twisting and turning it into an ugly mask Honerva never would’ve expected or even hoped to see on anyone she knew-especially not her son. And she definitely-desperately-hoped-prayed-she’d never have to see it again. And she silently vowed to do everything in her power to protect Ke’Ith from as much harm as possible in this godforsaken time and this godforsaken war and this godforsaken mess that was the Druids’ loyalty to the Empire-Honerva knew for a fact Ke’Ith was going to ask one day how, when they were actually this nice, the Druids had managed to earn themselves this terrifying reputation of theirs and why they were even so much as staying in the Empire.

But as Honerva vowed and thought all that, she-very much belatedly-realized they’d been standing around far too long-her son was dying and she was daydreaming!

And so, Honerva began walking, carrying Ke’Ith with her, holding him close once more, soothing him to the best of her ability, also making the Emperor relinquish the impatient frown he’d still briefly held as Honerva looked over Ke’Ith’s shoulder.

But now they were moving, so Zarkon simply turned around, quietly scoffing; Honerva couldn’t care less. Instead, she made sure her son wouldn’t slip out of her hold, grabbing him ever more so tightly and softly whispering, though not knowing whether this’d make any difference at all, “I got you. It’ll be ok.”

And as if that had broken a dam of sorts, Honerva felt Ke’Ith lean in, hugging her tighter and burying his face in her shoulder in a poorly veiled attempt to stop his shaking. Just moments later, she also felt a growing wetness on her shoulder and heard Ke’Ith sniffle ever so quietly, all just serving to prompt her-even more than it already did-to once again raise an arm and stroke the backside of Ke’Ith’s head, all while they were walking.

And so, they had, albeit slowly, resumed their trek to the Emperor’s private quarters.

And, aside from her son’s likely imminent death whose cause and date had yet to be determined, everything was going to be ok once more-or so Honerva hoped.


	14. Not just an illness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here I am again! After a long absence, the length of the chapter is somewhat of an apology to you! (Though I hope the chapter didn't become too long, which might simply own to the fact that I didn't know how to put what I wanted to happen in more than one or at least a differently written chapter!)
> 
> I'll try to get the next chapter done a little faster!
> 
> Anyways, enjoy! And if there are typos to fix or tags you think I should add to the story, just write a comment!

All things considered, Honerva was, much like Thace had been, very wise and very old. So old, in fact, that the many, many times she had traversed this exact path they were walking right now blurred and blended together, becoming one and keeping Honerva from recounting how often she’d already been here; not that she had ever counted, nor had ever cared to count, and, maybe, in a sense, she also may not have wanted to count, may not have wanted to have to count.

Lost in these thoughts and dazed with worry for Ke’Ith, Honerva completely and utterly missed how the rest of the walk flew by in less than five doboshes; in hindsight, she had to admit she must’ve been out of it quite a bit. 

So out of it actually, that in the first few moments the trio of Emperor, High Priestess and Apprentice stood before the gate leading to the Emperor’s quarters, Honerva didn’t process the doctor and two Guardsmen of the newly formed, but nonetheless imposing Imperial Guard already being there, with the latter being clad in ceremonial armor from head to toe and carrying the doctor’s equipment. She would’ve almost walked into said man had Zarkon not stopped in front of her to stare him down with narrowed eyes, an equally amused and ambiguous smirk quirking his lips.

“You certainly are fast, doctor.”, the Emperor remarked, clearly amused with the obvious irony held in his statement.

Irony which the doctor luckily picked up on immediately. “To…some extent at least, my Emperor. If you may, please forgive me for my earlier inability to provide a timely estimate…or any estimate at all…concerning…Lord Ke’Ith’s…due date…for all I know, there is not even a word for his lordship’s condition.”, the smaller man admitted, gesturing towards the slumped form in Honerva’s arms, then inclining his head.

The Emperor just scoffed at that and turned away from the doctor, moving to put a hand on the gate’s handprint scanner. “Due date…”, he mumbled amusedly before turning towards the doctor again and declaring, “Spare me your excuses and extenuations, doctor. I advise you seek redemption not through words, but an accurate diagnosis and a working cure.”

The addressed man kept his head bowed just a little longer. “Of course, my Emperor, as you command.”

The next moment, the gate before the six Galrans opened wide with a low thrum, like a gaping maw ready to swallow whole whoever dared enter. “Welcome back, my Emperor!”, the gate greeted from hidden speakers. Zarkon scoffed again and moved past the doctor, beckoning the group of five to follow him.

Adjoining the now open entrance to the Emperor’s quarters was a short, nondescript and all but inordinary corridor; black steel floor, ceiling, walls and columns with built-in lights flanking multiple doors to the left and to the right as well as one more straight ahead.

But that was not all there was to this hall; where there were no doorways, the space between two columns instead held an Imperial Banner and a lettering in either Galran or Universal Standard, detailing an aspect of Galra society and thinking condensed in a single sentence.

“In Galran, ‘peace’ reads as ‘pause’.”

“In strength we trust.”

“Weakness is an abscess best torn out by the root.”

“Vrepit sa!”

“You can rest when you are dead.”

“Be good or be gone.”

“Victory or death!”

“Ten millennia and counting…”

“Our enemies deserve neither freedom nor peace if they can’t defend either.”

“Be pure. Be strong. Be victorious.”

“Crying is for those who have nothing but water to shed and air to waste.”

Upon striding past the banners, past the letterings, both of which were only a fraction of the changes to the Empire Ke‘Ith had inspired the Emperor to initiate with his little speech about why communication between ruler and subject was key, Honerva couldn’t help the sense of pride that filled her. 

She was proud of so many things she could hardly recount them all; she was proud of the Druids and herself for all their achievements and inventions towards acquiring infinite Quintessence, which she reckoned and hoped would bring peace to the universe, she was proud of her son to have powered through his childhood and still grow into such a fine man, she was proud of all the things she’d managed to convince the Emperor of not ordering in the past 10.000 years, be it genocide, or unnecessary slavery, or forced mass starvation. And despite all these things sounding rather dramatic or not being nearly enough – for example her not being able to completely stop slavery or genocide – Honerva couldn’t help but feel at least a twinge of respect for herself at what she and most around her had achieved.

However, the pride didn’t fill her completely, quite possibly not even remotely; there were simply too many things Honerva had done or lived through and come to regret over the deca-phoebes, things she knew would haunt her till her death and possibly beyond, with these being all the events and actions she hadn’t managed to stop from occurring or being done.

But as she pondered this, weighed her options and opportunities, recalculated risks and plans, the group passed all banners, letterings and doors to their sides and ended up in front of the one passageway at the far end of the corridor. There, to the left and the right of the double door, two more Imperial Guardsmen stood at rigid attention, silently saluting and each of them one-handedly pushing open one wing of the door they were posted next to.

The door swung open – and Honerva was alienated. Alienated to the point where even the past 10.000 years – in which the Altean within her had continuously screamed at her at how wrong and twisted the place she called her home was – seemed like a mere joke.

You see, over time Honerva had, much like the man she’d come to serve, learned a lot about reading people, their traits, their intentions, their hopes, their fears and much, much more. She’d learned enough, in fact, that she was able to deduce great amounts of information about any given person just by looking at how they lived, the Emperor himself included.

Or so she had thought.

After all, what Honerva saw was incongruous with all she thought she knew about Zarkon, and she had been by his side him longer than most, if not all that were comparatively close to him. 

Yet, as Honerva took a long look at the furnishings she saw before her, it dawned on her all the more that the man she called Zarkon was not the same man she’d judged him to be, much less the man he’d been so very long ago. Furthermore, for all it seemed – and that thought twisted a sharp icicle of painful betrayal in her heart – he’d lied to her about who he was and how his Quintessence corruption had changed him – for ten entire millennia.

That had to be it, the reason Honerva saw what she saw; sleek, fashionable seatings grouped around glass tables, surrounded by tapestries, bookshelves laden with scrolls and books made of real paper – an extraordinary rarity in this day and age – and weapon and armor stands, some of which were in use, occupied by battle-worn sets of armor or arrangements of both standard and well-known as well as exotic weapons. 

And right there, dominating the room from the middle of the broad, far wall, was the most opulently large poster bed Honerva had ever seen, which was quite something, considering she was Altean, so to say a part of a civilization that’d had an impressive knack for debauchedly overbearing fanciness in their private lives. Luckily, Honerva posed an exception to that thanks to the Galran culture’s influence on her, but still, or rather especially because of that, she couldn’t help the disgusted grimace or the stab of pain in her gut when she realized the bed had been originally made for two. 

She should be here, should stay here, in these quarters and in that bed, her traitorous mind whispered before she could silence it, before she could remind herself that that was nothing more than a distant fantasy, never to be fulfilled, never to even just be considered, least of all by the man she was technically married to.

The man who, so it appeared, she knew next to nothing about; Honerva never would’ve taken him to even know what the word ‘comfort’ meant and entailed, yet every piece of furniture she saw looked comfortable or contributed to a general cozy atmosphere in one way or another. Even the armor and weapon stands seemed to tell stories of heroism, honor and victorious conquests rather than looking intimidating or speaking of their owner’s ruthless brutality or fanatic heed of his self-conceived dogmata.

Something, or rather, someone, was not right, and this very someone stood right before Honerva in this exact moment, towering tall and waving towards his bed with a dismissive, “Put Ke’Ith down over there.”

Honerva quickly obliged and set Ke’Ith down onto the bed which was far too soft to be owned by someone she’d never seen resting before.

“Doctor, your turn.”, Zarkon then said, sitting down on one of the many chairs strewn throughout the room. “And you two,”, he added a moment later while tipping his head back, closing his eyes and gesturing roughly in the direction of the two Imperial Guardsmen who’d just set down the doctor’s equipment next to the bed, “are dismissed.”

The two soldiers promptly saluted and hastily left the room, closing the door behind them, thus leaving Honerva, Ke’Ith, Zarkon and the doctor alone.

The latter immediately took to continuing his earlier examination, whirling around Ke’Ith in a dizzying speed, testing and examining and prodding all there was to test and examine and prod.

Meanwhile, Zarkon leant forward again, piercing eyes reopened and staring at Ke’Ith so intently Ke’Ith broke a sweat, feeling as if he were dissected by the Emperor’s gaze alone.

“Now then…”, the Galran Emperor declared a tense moment later, “tell me, Ke’Ith; what was your meeting with the Great Qualifiers like? What life-changing advice did they give you? Why were you resurrected? I need to know!”

Startled by the sudden exclamation and still quite out of it anyway, Ke’Ith needed a few moments to compose himself enough to be able to answer. Propping himself up on his elbows from where he lay, he took a deep breath, collected himself and his memory, the latter of which was hazy at best right now, and – letting the doctor continue his work by quietly obliging to his subtle touches and pleas for one limb or the other being stretched out or bared – told his story. He didn’t leave anything out, didn’t twist the truth; he’d always been a terrible liar, and the Emperor, with all his experience in reading people, would’ve known anyways. So he told them; told them of how he’d gotten to the afterlife, how he’d met the Qualifiers, how they’d talked, how they’d treated him, how he’d felt, what he’d said and responded, and, finally, how and why they’d sent him back.

Lance – the Blue Paladin – his soulmate – ha! As if!

Apparently, Zarkon and his mother seemed to share his opinion on that matter; he didn’t even have time to blink or breathe after ending his story before the Emperor barked out a short laugh while his mother went completely silent, mouth set in a straight line.

“The Gods sure do like to joke…”, she said into the silence following the Emperor’s laugh, “They must’ve missed what I saw…or foregone it intentionally…who knows what’s going on inside their heads…”

After his initial reaction, Zarkon sobered as well and leaned forward even more, enough to put his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands, deep in thought, pondering what Ke’Ith had told them. 

“I agree.”, he said to no one in particular, though surely addressing his de-jure-wife, “From your story I gather either we or the Qualifiers must be mistaken about your relationship with the Blue Paladin. And the former cannot be true as far as I am concerned, considering how you’ve ended up with the Empire. Besides, what about the ‘true’ in ‘true soulmate’? If the Blue Paladin were your soulmate, wouldn’t simply saying so suffice? Why the added adjective? Unless…you are close to meeting…another…mate of yours, however that may work. In that case, have my preemptive congratulations for meeting a person few ever come across in their lives. But alas,”, he ended his small monologue, turning to the Ke’Ith, Honerva and the doctor, “your thoughts?”

For a short moment, nobody knew what to say, everybody slightly taken aback by the Emperor asking them for their opinion, the latter of which he usually considered very little if at all; talk about being a sovereign ruler.

However, before anyone could speak – even Honerva, decidedly the fastest on the uptake between her, the doctor who was just now coming to an end with his examination, looking just as utterly confused as concerned, and a less than half-conscious Ke’Ith, was interrupted – Zarkon straightened his back, raising his head and piercing the doctor with his gaze once more.

“I see you wrapping up your examination, doctor. Tell me, what is plaguing Ke’Ith?”

The addressed man straightened up equally, fully turning around to Zarkon, previously having leant over Ke’Ith’s crumpled form on the former’s bed.

“My Emperor,”, the man started, “I can now say with definite certainty that Lord Ke’Ith’s condition is entirely unknown and unprecedented, unique and previously unrecorded, so to say. And the chance that our medical database is incomplete falls into the realm of statistical improbability.”

The doctor stopped talking for a moment and awkwardly cleared his throat. “But you asked for the characteristics of his ailment. To repeat myself in layman’s terms, his lordship is dying.”

“Hold up, doctor.”, Zarkon interrupted, badly startling the addressed man, “How is ‘dying’ a layman’s term?”

The doctor answered promptly, “Well, my Emperor, normally I’d agree with you on ‘dying’ being both straightforward and scientifically correct, not simplifying so to say, but in Lord Ke’Ith’s case, the latter does not apply. Thus, for the sake of putting it simply, he is dying, which I’d have followed up by explaining the exact conditions…of his condition.”

Zarkon nodded appreciatively but narrowed his eyes. “Then go on, doctor.”

The man reciprocated the nod. “I believe his lordship was involved with the explosion of the Solar Barrier generator on the Eternal Empire a few quintants back?”

Following a short verification by Honerva, he continued. “For all I can tell, the massive amount of Quintessence radiation from the explosion that hit his lordship interfered – quite destructively, I might add – with his lordship’s Quintessence. You see, all matter harboring Quintessence, be it organic, inorganic, sentient or not has its very own, unique Quintessence and respective frequency at which said Quintessence swings, with the only exception being our refined fuel, which is purged of its unique and ununiform properties in the refinement process, but I think I need not explain that to you.”, he explained with a nod to Honerva.

“However, now that his lordship has been contaminated by the generator’s radiation, his Quintessence and its frequency have been gravely disturbed and brought out of balance, which gives leeway to a multitude of symptoms who, after a yet to be determined time, might, or rather, can, only result in one thing. And that thing is death. From random bouts of both aggression and depression to sudden faintness and adrenaline rushes or internal bleeding as we have witnessed earlier, a myriad of symptoms appears possible, and one day, one or multiple of them might be enough to have Lord Ke’Ith drop dead at a moment’s notice.”

Silence spread throughout the Emperor’s quarters as everyone processed what had just been said – each in their own way. Even Ke’Ith had joined in on the pondering, having recovered from his half-consciousness during the doctor’s explanations. Now, he was staring at the former wide-eyed and panicked.

“You’re kidding.”, he said a moment later, being the first one to react in any way, Zarkon and Honerva still thinking, but now looking up towards Ke’Ith and the doctor.

The latter of which objected in a neutral, professional tone. “I’m not kidding. I’m a doctor.”

“Say you’re kidding.”, Ke’Ith insisted, his panic visibly transforming into anger.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, my lord. The facts speak for themselves.”

Ke’Ith grit his teeth, and whatever was bubbling inside of him boiled over. “You’re kidding! You must be! Say it! Say it-!“

Ke’Ith’s face fell as quickly as his outburst had come and he immediately backtracked, awkward and panicked once again, breathing too fast and shallow. “I-I mean…Fuck – sorry…I – shit-“

Seeing as Ke’Ith was clearly working himself up into a full-blown panic attack, the doctor raised a hand, quelling Ke’Ith’s stammering.

“It’s alright, my lord.”, the man added, “This is what I was talking about; random bouts of aggression. Relatively harmless as long as you don’t get or are too worked up. Which actually brings us to the next point I’d like to address.”

Following a wave by Zarkon, the doctor went on. “As you may know, Quintessence is not entirely unbound from the rest of our being; various influences can and have proven to have great effect on our Quintessence, particularly emotions. Which is why, to avoid these extreme swings in Lord Ke’Ith’s Quintessence frequency, he may be required to be taught a few lessons in self-control and -restraint. This way, we might avoid some frequency swings altogether and weaken all others by simply robbing them of one of their biggest sources. However, this is only a preventative method and might fail to help in crucial moments.”

“Then surely there must also be a permanent remedy, doctor?”, the Emperor interjected, reminding the doctor of his earlier promise for a working cure.

The addressed man bowed his head. “Only time, or rather, more examination, will tell. Forgive me, but as of right now, there is nothing I know of that might be able to permanently cure his lordship of his ailment. It will take time to study his condition and eventually synthetize a remedy.”

“What about non-permanent methods, doctor?”, Honerva inquired from the sidelines, bowed over Ke’Ith who had collapsed back onto Zarkon’s bed.

“It’s good you ask, as I would’ve brought that up next. You see, while I cannot promise permanent remedy at this point, there are methods to either get his lordship down from a high or low in his Quintessence frequency or keep the latter a little more stable. However, while I think they will not be without effect, they are…rather dubious. Two of the three I have in mind, anyway.”

“I see.”, Zarkon declared, “And these methods are…?”

“Put in layman’s terms: Bloodletting and getting mated. Although the latter is somewhat permanent, it does not equal being fully cured.”, the doctor answered, “With that being said, to make my suggestions more easily understandable, I shall explain myself. Bloodletting is simultaneously the easiest to explain and to execute; should Lord Ke’Ith experience a violent swing in his Quintessence frequency, he could – and I intentionally say ‘could’, as I strongly advise against using this method – cut himself or be cut to lose some blood – after all, as we all know, blood is especially Quintessence-rich, and losing some of it could potentially weaken a swing. However, this would also weaken his lordship himself, which might prove even more counterproductive than any swing ever could, on top of being nothing more than a temporary solution.”

The doctor halted for a tick. “On that note,”, he then added, “ingesting blood, the opposite of bloodletting so to say, might work as well.”

“I see.”, Zarkon said once more, waving encouragingly, but also slightly impatiently, “Go on.”

The doctor nodded gratefully. “My second suggestion is rather simple to explain as well, being exactly what its name promises; searching for and finding a mate for his lordship, marrying the two and…allowing nature to take its course. Now while this, in and on itself, does not pose any kind of cure or relief, getting mated might prove beneficial to his lordship on multiple levels. The most prominent of which might not only be the emotional stability that comes with the relationship with one’s mate – making lessons in self-restraint somewhat obsolete so long as his lordships’ mate is in the vicinity – but also – once again depending on close distance between the two mates – weakening or even outright preventing some frequency swings. It is yet to be fully understood why exactly two persons with the exact same wavelength of their Quintessence frequency are attracted to and by each other, but for all science has come to deduce up until now, I can tell with relative certainty that having a mate – ideally nearby at most, if not all, times – would greatly benefit his lordship.”

Silence spread throughout the room once more, with all present – sans the doctor, naturally – considered and pondered his suggestions. This silence, however, was interrupted after a moment, with Ke’Ith practically squeaking “M-Marrying?”.

The doctor turned towards Ke’Ith. “Why, yes, your lordship. A formal marriage ceremony is the traditional way of making public one’s successful mating.”

“I-uh-I…see…”, Ke’Ith stuttered in response, trying and utterly failing to play it cool. To be frank, he didn’t know why he’d attempted the former; even just the thought of marrying, not to mention someone previously and completely unknown, was more than scary when one had to concretely consider it, and so far in his life, honesty had always served Ke’Ith the best.

After that, the group fell back into silence. A silence with a bitter aftertaste, that is; the reality of the matter at hand slowly set in for everyone present – mainly Ke’Ith, who collapsed onto the bed, faceplanting into it, shoulders twitching with muffled crying.

Honerva was equally aghast. Sure, when Ke’Ith had thrown up blood earlier, she’d already been shocked, her mind and instincts screaming at her to something, anything, and when the diagnose was death, she could’ve blacked out from the worry and sorrow right there and then, but this…she hadn’t expected something so slow, so painful, something that brought so much insecurity and uncertainty…

‘”…a myriad of symptoms appears possible, and one day, one or multiple of them might be enough to have Lord Ke’Ith drop dead at a moment’s notice.”’, the exact diagnosis of the doctor rung in her ears, and seeing her son crying on her Emperor’s bed, she crouched down and soothed him as much as she could, as best as she could, both with touch and whispered reassurances.

They stayed like that for quite some time, Ke’Ith eventually calming enough to lift his head, sufficing for Honerva to see his pained, heartbreaking expression which almost made her cry as well. But, taking a few shaky breaths, she reigned herself in and continued patting the back of her son’s head as she had taken to a few doboshes ago. She had to be strong now. For herself, but more importantly for Ke’Ith.

But as it seemed, the universe hated Ke’Ith. And that apparent hatred came in the form of the doctor taking a deep breath and uttering, turned towards Ke’Ith, “Still, there’s one more thing I feel the need and obligation to address. It concerns your Quintessence manipulation powers, my lord.”

From one tick to the other, Ke’Ith went from dazed and miserable to wide-eyed, panicked and hyper-focused on the doctor. So focused in fact, that he neither noticed Zarkon leaning forward in his chair, narrowing his eyes as if expecting the worst nor his mother who glanced up to towards the doctor, the beginnings of understanding and insane worry in shining in her eyes.

“I-Fuck.”, Ke’Ith breathed, propping himself up on his elbows and putting his head in his hands, then saying, “Just make it quick. Tell them. Rip the band-aid off.”

The doctor slightly tilted his head contemplatively. “I’m not entirely sure what you are onto, my lord and I am unfamiliar with that figure of speech, but I assume you want whatever you think I am about to announce to be done with swift and painless?”

“Yes.”, Ke’Ith groaned from where he lay, not even looking up. Had he, however, looked up, he would’ve met his mother’s concerned gaze. Meanwhile, Honerva would’ve seen the utter terror and fear of what was to come in his eyes.

“Very well.”, the doctor responded, turning towards Zarkon and Honerva. “According to my data, it appears the Quintessence radiation from the exploding Solar Barrier generator did more than merely inducing the multitude of symptoms by misbalancing his lordships’ Quintessence frequency. In doing the latter, it seems to also have – completely at that, I might mention – robbed Lord Ke’Ith…of his druidic abilities.”

Silence. For the third – and most merciless, suffocating – time. Time which suddenly froze for the group of four; not only was it as if any and all warmth had been sucked from the room, but everything was perfectly still as well – a still life of shock, fear, disbelief and resignation.

Being the disbelieving one, Zarkon asked, “Come again?”, tone of voice cold and cutting.

The doctor. Answered promptly. “As I said, the-“

“I UNDERSTOOD WHAT YOU SAID!”, Zarkon screamed, rising to his feet and towering over the other three, “BUT WHY?! HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?!”

The doctor stayed matter-a-factly. “I believe-“

“I DON’T NEED BELIEFS OR ASSUMPTIONS!”, Zarkon boomed, cutting the doctor off bitingly, “I NEED A CURE!”

“My Emperor-“

“What is it, doctor?!”, Zarkon interrupted, cutting the doctor off once more, but at least having finally toned down his voice.

“I…probably shouldn’t recommend or even just mention this, but…”, the doctor began, “I have something in mind that might…or might not, mind me…work and – at the very least – help his lordship regain his powers. However, I highly advise against-“

“I’ll do it.”, Ke’Ith interrupted, thus making everyone turn their heads towards him and take in the remains of a miserable expression fading, being replaced by grim determination, “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

The doctor responded after a short pause, clearly taken aback. “My Lord, with all due respect, I beg of you, this is a chance you shouldn’t take this willingly – or at all. You might die.”

“Would you kindly tell us what you have in mind before trying to cajole us into anything, doctor?”, Zarkon asked from the sidelines, put on friendly, but obviously displeased with how things were going.

“Why, yes, my Emperor, forgive me.”, the addressed man immediately backtracked, turning away from Ke’Ith. “I was thinking of making his lordship drink the contents of a small injection of Quintessence, with great emphasis being on the ‘drinking’; directly injecting it into the bloodstream, while ideal to evenly and quickly distribute Quintessence in the entire body, bypasses the stomach, but more importantly the liver, both of which filter Quintessence and weaken the adverse effects it will have on Lord Ke’Ith’s in his current state. However, I must renew my warning: According to my interpretation of the data I gathered in my earlier examinations, taking in Quintessence now will induce a frequency swing with a slight chance of death. Once more, I beg of you, your lordship: Don’t take this chance; losing your position among the Druids is still favorable to losing your health or even your life.”

Ke’Ith scoffed in response and pushed himself up from where he lay into a sitting position, though leaning into his mother who’d sat down next to him. “Your concerns have been duly noted, doctor.”, he said dryly, “However, I will take the Quintessence anyway.”

“I see.”, the doctor answered after a long moment of silent staring, “But may I at least inquire what compels you to take this drastic step?”

Ke’Ith’s mouth quirked in a sarcastic, lopsided grin, but after saying, “You may.”, he quickly sobered up again. “It’s rather simple, really.”, he continued, “I feel I must, that is all there is to it. What worth do I have without my powers?”

A statement which was immediately objected by both Honerva and the doctor, though for entirely different reasons; one spoke up out of maternal worry and fear for and of losing her son, the other cut in because of an objective, clinical point of view that suggested a different approach or even none at all to what Ke’Ith planned to do. 

“Ke’Ith, you’re still-“, Honerva spoke up, but was silenced by her son raising a hand.

“Your lordship, with all due respect, you-“, the doctor cut in, but Ke’ith raised the other hand as well.

Silence blanketed the room yet again, with the Emperor having leaned back, waiting and observing, an almost amused expression on his face.

“Please, please, calm down.”, Ke’ith asked of his mother and the doctor, effectively making them shut up completely, sounding more resolute and composed than just a few doboshes back, “I feel I must. Take the Quintessence, that is. Don’t try and stop me. The chance of death is only slight anyway, and I’ll bear anything else.”

“But Ke’Ith-“, Honerva objected, but was promptly cut off by Ke’Ith, pinning her with a determined gaze.

“Mom,”, he said, “I’ll manage.”

Honerva gazed back for almost an entire dobosh. Then, she relented, sighing, but otherwise staying quiet, with a strained but also appeased expression on her face. “Fine then.”, she yielded, “Do what must be done.”

The doctor glanced towards Zarkon before making any move, searching for confirmation for what Ke’Ith was ready to endure at his hands. Confirmation which he got in the form of an impatient wave by the Galran Emperor.

“Very well.”, the doctor relented similarly to Honerva while taking a vial of Quintessence out of one of his bags the Imperial Guardsmen had brought there. While unscrewing the vial and handing it to Ke’Ith, the doctor continued, “Quintessence is smell- and tasteless, but beware the burning, your lordship. I advise you drink it one go.”

Ke’Ith stared at the vial in his hand. Then he clenched his fist around, a hard set to his jaw. “Here goes nothing.”, he joked and downed the vial in one sip.

True to what the doctor had said, the Quintessence didn’t smell like anything and didn’t taste like anything.

But the burn…Even pure alcohol drunk on an empty stomach couldn’t rival this…this…this taste…or this pain? Pain and taste bled into one while Ke’Ith tried his damn hardest not to throw up and black out right there and then.

Between his coughing and his retching, however, his life flashed before his eyes. Or were those visions? He couldn’t tell.

But what he could tell was what he saw. Layered images, some still, some moving, all with a cacophony of sounds, tastes, smells, feelings and so much more his head began hurting just trying to comprehend it in the background, making everything altogether bring him to the edge of unconsciousness.

Himself next to a towering female figure in Galran armor, his hand in hers. Happiness. Contentment.

He and the figure, together with yet another group of people standing behind them in formation, overlooking what seemed like a raging battlefield. Excitement. Confidence.

Yet another variation of the visions he’d had before, this time featuring a corridor instead of what’d always seemed like a prison cell, with everyone standing and in full armor, Ke’Ith finding himself positioned between one smaller figure and the rest of a group. Rage. Bloodlust.

Himself bowed over another – or the same? – towering female figure, who was laying on the ground, now surrounded by a pool of dark liquid gleaming horribly under invisible sources of light. Horror. Sorrow.

In the end, with all his senses turning into a uniform mush under the influence of the visions and the Quintessence burning his intestines, Ke’ith gave up on trying to distinguish and process every single vision and simply sat back mentally, letting everything wash over him like waves on a stormridden sea.

He saw hundreds of people, thousands of places, he traveled through time and space, he came, he saw, he conquered, he killed, razed and bombarded – well, he thus concluded, this had to mean those were visions…changeable forecasts of what the future might bring…right?

After all, some of what he saw he hoped would never come true, some of what he felt he never wanted to have to go through.

And while he thought that, he stopped thinking altogether and slipped into an almost welcoming dark- and numbness.


	15. A reawakening with a side of sunburn and the like

When Ke’Ith blacked out and tipped forward, Honerva was the first to react, move and ultimately catch him. After all, not only did she sit right beside her son, she also knew what drinking Quintessence was like – she’d done it herself before for both experimental and medical reasons.

And since the other two persons in the room most likely had not done so – though she wouldn’t put it beyond them, what with the doctor being a scientist himself and Zarkon occasionally requiring treatment with Quintessence – they were much slower to react, the doctor surging forward to catch the already caught Ke’Ith and Zarkon quickly leaning forward in his chair, eyes wide for a moment, then narrowed again.

But Honerva catching Ke’Ith and gently letting him down onto the bed wasn’t the only event happening there and then; Honerva also felt her son’s presence through their psychic link again, and even though it felt as if it’d freshly joined their linked consciousness, Honerva knew that now, Ke’Ith had fully returned to her, his mother, and to them, the Druids. And she was overjoyed, tightly squeezing her unconscious son to her chest, a lopsided smile on her face which was only held in check by the last ounces of restraint she had; after 10.000 years of playing the untouchable High Priestess, she still had some reservations about fully letting her act fall in front of anyone that wasn’t the Druids, but the remains of said restraint quickly melted away under the relief she felt.

Before Ke’Ith’s ‘return’, she hadn’t dared mention his absence from the Druid’s linked consciousness; not only was the latter one of the few secrets – and by far the greatest – she’d managed to keep from the Emperor so far, she’d also feared Ke’Ith completely breaking down – and if the former had happened already, breaking down even more. After all, every single shed tear of his, every single whimper of his, even if she couldn’t see or hear but merely feel either or both, had broken her heart, going beyond her maternal instincts springing into action and crossing into the territory of seeing everyone and everything as a potential threat to her son; during the last conversation she had to restrain herself multiple times to not growl at either the doctor or the Emperor, the former of which, now that Ke’Ith was safely laying down again, bowed over him, which in turn made Honerva look at her son a little more closely.

More precisely, it made her look at his much too pale, almost white skin and his nigh glowing, equally stark white eyes. Before, she hadn’t had time to worry about her son’s looks, chalking them up to his recent death and resurrection as well as the cause of the former – Quintessence – which, as visible not only on Ke’Ith but almost every Galra, could influence looks – and sadly, personality too – quite heavily.

Now that they had time, however…

“Doctor,”, Honerva asked therefore, “what is wrong with Ke’Ith’s skin? And his eyes?”

Instead of an answer, the doctor hummed and then said, “And with his fangs as well…”, pointedly looking at Ke’Ith’s half-open mouth before commencing a second round of his examinations.

Honerva and the Emperor patiently and silently waited the few minutes the doctor needed to finish this second examination. Then they waited just as patiently and silently for the man to gather his data, interpret it and finally announce his findings, if he had any of the latter.

Which he indeed did.

“Luckily,”, the man started, “his lordship’s physical appearance is nothing to fret about too much – aside from a few minor complications that might or might not present themselves in the time to come, his unusual paleness, the white glow of his eyes and his elongated fangs are nothing more than optical changes.”

“Uh-huh.”, Honerva hummed, cutting off anything the Emperor might have wanted to say out of relief for her son to not have anymore life-changing ailments on his plate. Provoked by this train of thought, Honerva added, “And these minor complications you’re talking about? What exactly do they entail?”

“Well,”, the doctor explained, “owing to his lordship’s paleness, I’d rather he be kept out of the sun, lest he contract a sunburn. After all, he’s – if you’d allow that observation – nigh translucent, which might lead to him getting sunburnt even in the morning or the evening – a few doboshes of sunlight might suffice for that.”

“Aha. Sunburn.”, Honerva remarked, equally impatient to know the rest of these ‘minor complications’ and get this over with and relieved once more it wasn’t anything more serious. “What else?”, she then asked.

“On top of that, his lordship retained some of the Quintessence he was contaminated with, leading to increased physical sensitivity; his skin might itch occasionally and get irritated more easily while his lordship himself might have a more pronounced sense of touch.”, the doctor explained, then ended with an added, “I advise he be kept not only out of the sun but also out of physical harm’s way – which naturally conflicts with the bloodletting I suggested earlier.”

“I see.”, Honerva simply responded, having nothing else to say.

However, before an awkward silence could spread like a short while ago, Zarkon spoke up. “You mentioned him…”, he said, gesturing towards Ke’Ith, “gaining Quintessence from the exploding Solar Barrier. What does that mean for him and his…powers?”

I would call it ‘having it forced upon him’ rather than ‘gaining’, but alas… The…’additional’ Quintessence’s effect on his lordship’s druidic abilities only time will tell – without practical tests, there’s nothing I can predict with certainty right now.”

“Ah yes, practical tests. Of course.”, the Galran Emperor hummed, deep in thought, “…I’d like to see those as well.” After a long pause, he then declared, “Very well then. Doctor, congratulations for being promoted.”

This visibly confused the addressed man. “My Emperor, what promotion? What-“

Zarkon silenced him with a wave of his hand and a pointed stare and pointed on Ke’Ith. “As of right now, you are to be his personal physician. Make sure he lives and does so in the best possible condition. I think I needn’t remind you what consequences your failure will have.”

“Of course not, my Emperor.”, the doctor answered promptly, almost as if automated, bowing to Zarkon, “I shall live up to my new position and its demands to the best of my abilities, and I will do so with the utmost gratitude. Thank you for trusting me with this task, my Emperor. Vrepit sa.”

The Emperor chuckled in response to that quite ceremonial vow. “Vrepit sa indeed, doctor. Now go, all of you.”

And as Honerva picked up Ke’Ith to carry him out of the room while the doctor collected his instruments and stored them in his bags, somewhere else entirely, on the other side of the universe, a whole group of people felt something reawaken within them – something that had been gone, dead for the last two days.


	16. Shockwave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be on vacation in the next two weeks, so sadly I can't write in that time...but I hope the length of this chapter (I really overdid it again, didn't I?) makes up for that… 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

Lance was idly, almost numbly sitting in the lounge room when it happened. He’d been – like so very often ever since…Keith left…thinking about his and the Red Paladin’s relationship. And while he himself technically was the Red Paladin, he couldn’t help but think of himself as the Blue Paladin and Keith as the Red one – like it should’ve been, like it should’ve stayed. 

And yet, the fault that it wasn’t like this, didn’t stay like this, lied entirely with him – it may’ve been Pidge who’d had the idea to use the Hoktril on Keith, but in the end, it’d been Lance who’d provoked Keith, practically forcing him to attack Lance with what he’d said.

In hindsight, Lance realized his behavior that day had been childish and uncalled for – no, scratch that; his behavior towards him had always been childish and uncalled for, be it at the Garrison, where he made up that stupid one-sided rivalry that’d done more harm than good or in space, where he justified constantly harassing Keith with wanting to one-up him, an endeavor which he not only constantly failed at, but also blamed on Keith every single time as well…

But still, despite all these realizations, Lance could not settle on anything satisfying to call Keith. Then again, he’d realized that Keith was more than friend to him, yet Lance had treated him like less – like far less. And whatever this ‘more than friends’ was, Lance knew it was something big and impactful – something that’d made him pay Keith an excessive amount of attention, even if the former had been of the totally wrong kind. 

However, now that this…shockwave had washed over him…it felt as if he were alive again after what seemed like an eternity of simply existing and letting himself be carried and thrown around by life like a dry leaf in a strong breeze. And much like he, the leaf, had been blown about by the wind, or rather life itself, the relief of not simply being, but also feeling again, very nearly blew all his concerns and considerations about him and Keith from his mind. 

Very nearly. And only temporarily.

Because as he came down from his high and back to his senses, Lance realized one thing: If there was anybody in the universe who could get Keith back, it was them, the Paladins of Voltron; they could get him back, they would get him back and they would make him stay.

And if he – he himself especially, after what he’d done – didn’t play any significant part in all that he better be damned, or so Lance vowed before getting up and making his way to the training deck, the only place he could think of where he could spend his time productively, working towards getting any closer Keith.

After all, if there was one thing he knew by now, it was that they’d have to fight, be it against Keith himself or the rest of the Galra Empire.

Shiro, on the other hand, had been sleeping when it happened – not very soundly, that is, and plagued by flashes of what may’ve well been one of his many buried, intentionally forgotten and repressed memories, but appeared as the most realistic nightmare he’d had yet – but now he was very much awake, thanks to whatever this sudden shock was. 

Shooting up with a gasp and a choked sob while trying to banish the flashes of black, purple and red from his mind, Shiro felt something reawaken within him, that, even while he felt like both throwing up and crying his eyes out, filled him with an inexplicable, diffuse sense of hope that made him choke on the sob which would prove to be his last one for that night.

Sweating profusely, Shiro turned on the lights with a shaky voice command and swung his legs over the edge of his bed. Bending forward and running his flesh arm – which was just as shaky as his voice – through his hair, he clenched his prosthetic fist on his knee and stood up, breathing deeply to calm himself like he’d done uncountably often before. At the same time, he felt yet another sense – this time not of hope, but motivation and energization – flow through him, expelling his fear and his tiredness.

Exhaling determinedly, with his nightmare fading from his mind fast, Shiro turned his head towards his closet, gaze pinned to the top shelf through the closed door, where he knew he’d put Keith’s diary after he’d…confiscated it after…seeing Lance completely break down over its contents. 

Until now, he’d shied away from reading the diary, too scared of what it may contain, what it may tell him about Keith that even he, his supposed guardian, friend and brother didn’t know, hadn’t known in time to…prevent the current…situation…

But since the latter had already occurred, Shiro had been thinking a lot in the last two days and – just like Lance – come to his own conclusions, the most important of which was that, for all it seemed, Keith’s pain and trauma ran a lot deeper than what he’d ever known – and it crushed his heart to realize that Keith had trusted his diary which, for all its worth, was nothing more than an inanimate, if neatly bound pile of processed wood, rather than Shiro…his friend, his brother, and, as Keith himself had oftentimes said during their time together, “the only one to stand up for me”.

And what did Shiro do? He betrayed that initially careful, but soon unconditional trust and respect in the worst way possible, not only breaking Keith’s heart but also sending him back to square one in this cruel, unforgiving game his life sometimes appeared to be, thus forcing him to fend for himself. The latter of which, as Keith had admitted to Shiro one starry night on the Garrison’s roof, was what he feared most in life; being surrounded by people, yet being isolated, being an outcast, with no way to return, always an outsider, always an intruder, forever alone.

Yet this fear seemed to be nothing but the tip of the iceberg…

And the temptation to dive deeper, to dig deeper, to get to know all there was to know about Keith’s past life had steadily risen in the last two days, reaching a nigh overpowering level.

But Shiro was a man of and with morals and thus had steadfastly refrained from breaking Keith’s trust even more than he already had by reading his diary. 

However, even his morals didn’t stop some rather ugly thoughts from nestling themselves in the unoccupied crevices of his mind, and neither did it stop said thoughts from sprouting like weeds between badly laid tiles.

‘Keith isn’t here – just read his diary! He’ll never know!’

‘What’re you hesitating for? All the answers you want and need are so close!’

‘Just this once! Who gives a damn about your morals – especially in the dead of the night!’

‘Just read it! Morals are for when you’re with other people!’

‘Who could stop you from reading a mere diary? The others?’ 

‘They couldn’t even stop one of their own from leaving because they were too blind to recognize his trauma…And you were blind as well!’ 

‘And now that you finally have the chance to have your eyes opened, you refuse? Because of what? Morals? Those became obsolete the moment you betrayed Keith!’

These thoughts and many more went through Shiro’s head as he stood in the middle of his dark, cold room, breathing heavily and feeling his inhibitions towards reading Keith’s diary slip more and more.

Meanwhile, Pidge was still – or already? – awake when it happened, fiddling with some scraps she’d picked up some time ago, wanting to see if anything worthwhile could be made from garbage alone.

And while that sounded rather true to her curious, prodding nature, it was, that much she’d quickly come to realize after collecting the scraps she currently held in her hands, nothing but a desperate attempt to do anything other than contemplate this sudden feeling of utter loss that’d abruptly befallen the entire castle about two days ago; even though it’d been clear from the get-go this wouldn’t work, which it did indeed not.

Strangely enough, this feeling she still, despite all her tries, couldn’t explain, made her think of Keith. More precisely, it made her think of her and Keith’s relationship, how it’d started, how it’d proceeded and how it’d – at least for now, it appeared – ended. In that context, she could somewhat understand what they were all feeling – they’d lost Keith, and said fact was now sinking in, maybe even manifesting through their mental bond as Paladins of Voltron.

Yet, Pidge couldn’t help but think it had to be more than that, more than even a disturbance in the shared consciousness of Voltron. After all – and this made her blood boil beyond what could be put in words – the lions had dropped Keith the fastest, had gotten over the loss of their Red Paladin as if it’d never happened…

Weren’t they supposed to be at least semi-sentient and ancient enough for their age alone granting them some wisdom surpassing human capabilities? But even so, with the latter being true, why would they just…it was as if they didn’t even want Keith back!

And that she just did not get…

However, or so a small voice in the back of her mind insisted, spurred on by the shockwave unexpectedly running through her, she could get it – if only she were to read Keith’s diary; then she’d know more, possibly even all there was to know…and that prospect filled her with reckless curiosity and nearly made her abandon her more righteous side, which insisted on there simply having to be another way aside from reading the diary and misusing Keith’s absence, the latter of which she felt fully responsible for.

Staring at the scraps in her now clenched hands, Pidge let her thoughts wander more and more, let them stray further and further from any reasonable path, allowing herself to sink deeper and deeper into the depression that’d befallen everyone aboard the Castle as of two days ago…

An unknown and – frankly – inconsequential amount of time later, Pidge sluggishly awoke from her daze that’d neither been actual sleep nor restful at all. Then again, the time she’d sat around dazedly had apparently been long enough for the thought processes plaguing her for the last two days to come to a standstill, finally resolving themselves and granting Pidge one ultimate insight: She needed to read Keith’s diary.

It may be wrong, or at least not unobjectionable, but Pidge drowned out the protest of her morals with the reasoning that to have a realistic chance at getting Keith back – and being able to make him stay as well, mind you – they had to know on how many and which levels they’d hurt him; aside from the obvious ones such as the severe breach of his privacy on and attack on his free will and independence, the latter of which, even though committed unknowingly, could not be excused in Pidge’s eyes. After all, they should’ve known what the Hoktril really did and how it really worked. Had Pidge done her work properly, all of this would’ve never happened and Keith would still be with them.

Pidge had never regretted a mistake on her part more ever before.

Thus, she got up on legs stiff from sitting too long and a back so used to being bent forward it protested her every move and made way towards Shiro’s room, not bothering to put on shoes or making herself more presentable in any way – there was no time for that, at least not now. Pidge also knew that Shiro himself was most probably awake as well right now, but she didn’t – couldn’t – care for that, not now, not here; there was a diary to read and a teammate to understand and ultimately bring back.

At about the same time, Hunk had been in the kitchen, dejectedly staring at a baking project he’d just started, but now abandoned in favor of mindlessly letting his thoughts run amok in his already anxious mind.

Truth to be told, he wasn’t feeling well – at all, that is. However, for the sake of itself and to distract himself from the sudden rush of depression that’d affected everyone at the Castle, he’d tried to keep playing his role in the team as the cook, comforter and voice of reason among a bunch of people with nigh-suicidal combat-readiness, and, despite on what they may insist, a certain tendency for self-neglect.

Needless to say, and rather obvious in his current situation, he hadn’t exactly fulfilled his role to anyone’s, least of all his very own, satisfaction; he couldn’t stop their team and its dynamic from essentially falling apart in the last two days.

And he hated himself for it while his anxiety was on an all-time high.

After all, not only couldn’t he do anything but stand by, paralyzed by depression, as he watched the team drift apart, all too caught up in their inexplicably sudden suffering that made them abandon most, if not all care for their teammates, but also because he, even though he himself had not yet forgotten the other people beside him in these cold, unwelcoming halls they called their home out here in space, wasn’t enough to keep them all – or any of them, for that matter – afloat; the food he’d cooked up in the last two days tasted bland, disgusting even, like nothing had ever tasted like before, the jokes he cracked and hugs he gave were more awkward or even downright unwelcome at times than ever before and his objections during both mission briefing and debriefing were either silently ignored or outright rejected, both in favor of blindly trying to function as a team like before, which – What a surprise! – didn’t work out in the slightest.

Hunk felt responsible for all that and more.

Had he not punched Keith – or reacted as aggressively towards him as he’d done – all this would’ve never happened and they would still have Keith with them, the latter of which had become Hunk’s greatest wish over the course of the past two days.

But alas, Keith wasn’t with them and it crushed Hunk’s heart in a vice-like grip.

And even as the shockwave rolled over him, relieving some of his anxiety, dissipating some of his worries, somewhat strengthening him once more, he couldn’t help but feel guilty and down in the low like he’d never before.

But now, Hunk had a new weapon at his disposal. After all, the shockwave had given him one more thing back, something he severely lacked at times – determination.

So Hunk swore, for all that was sacred to him, to work hard, fight harder, and get Keith back.

And while Hunk made his vows, Allura had been sleeping; or at least she’d tried to do so – unsuccessfully, of course, owing to whatever it was that’d had the whole castle in low spirits for the last two quintants.

The effects of said drop in morale were more than obvious to even the untrained eye. And if one possessed a trained eye, one like Allura sometimes dared to pride herself with, it was an entirely new story all over again, laying bare the many faults of Team Voltron apparently no one had ever noticed – or even voiced out loud – before.

Because, truth to be told, as it was right now, Voltron was little more than a group of people living on the same starship, fighting when needed to, training when told to. They lacked discipline and resilience, they weren’t battle-hardened at all; sure, 5 out of 6 of the current inhabitants of the Castle were teenagers, herself included, and the humans were all friends with each other while likely never having seen a war before, but even so…

…they were Voltron, they should – no, had to – do better. Not only better than this, but better all around.

Both the Coalition and the Blade of Marmora appeared to share that opinion with her. And while no one lamented the sudden lack of Keith in the team, showing how little the Paladin was apparently cared for even outside of this family of his that’d never truly been one, the members of the Coalition as well as the Blade of Marmora sure noticed the sudden drop in Voltron’s combat performance, costing them dozens of lightyears of formerly liberated territory and making everyone spend countless restless vargas strategizing and discussing how to mitigate the Coalition’s losses and stop Voltron’s weakness from becoming public knowledge, the latter of which none of the Paladins found themselves truly caring for; it was as if the Paladins – and even the Lions themselves – had lost their drive, their motivation, their reason for fighting in this war they’d neither wanted nor started, but now had to finish, whatever it cost; after all, the price of losing would be unimaginably horrific.

And on top of everything else the Paladins already had to wrap their heads around, it seemed as if all these events, all these feelings of hurt and shock and confusion were directly related to Keith leaving. Sure, the realization of what they’d done, what they’d forced Keith to do – allying himself with the Galra Empire – had sunk in by now, leaving the entire Castle in shock – some aboard it more than others, Allura added as an afterthought, thinking back towards to how miraculously harshly Lance had responded to Keith’s leave – but this…was…more…as if a supernatural power tried alerting them to workings going on beyond the ultimately superficial war.

And even though she’d continuously wracked her head for the past two quintants, Allura could not, for the life of her, figure out who or what this power was and what it or they attempted to alert the Paladins to or warn them about.

Then again, they’d utterly failed to have been warned about something entirely else – the full mobilization of the Galra Empire. And with Thace, one of their highest-ranking spies, gone, the mobilization had come so suddenly that even the Blade of Marmora could provide little detail aside from unfounded rumors speaking of what could either prove be a new, secret military advisor of the Emperor, a newly acquired insight on Zarkon’s part or something or someone completely different.

But this wasn’t the biggest of the Coalition’s worries – enter aforementioned mobilization; all of a sudden, the already tense situation on the frontlines escalated tenfold, replacing the steady advance of the Coalition’s forces with a staggering standstill at about the height of Naxzela, leaving the same planets to be contested over again and again, needlessly grinding up wave after wave of soldiers.

Soldiers of both sides, that is – after all, even though they were now supported by a complete set of tactics, strategies, vehicles and further personnel and armaments, the Coalition’s forces were oftentimes well-versed in guerilla warfare, sabotage and whatever other skills one may’ve acquired in a freelancing resistance group, not to mention the unbreakable spirit they possessed.

All this had occurred in only two days and left everyone reeling – yet there was no time to rest, no time to waste; considering this matter – and the shockwave that’d suddenly run through her – Allura wholeheartedly agreed with the where the rest of the team had, ever since Keith left, drawn their energy and determination from.

There was a war to win, a universe to liberate and a teammate to bring back and help heal.

Bring back with hopefully no or minimum force.

Help heal with all in their power – and more, if need be, if you were to ask Allura; after all, even though she’d mostly buried it under Coalition and Paladin work in a selfish attempt to reign in her guilty conscience, Allura had blamed herself to a massive degree for driving a wedge between the team and Keith even before he’d officially split off from them.

Upon discovering his partially Galran heritage, she’d reacted more than poorly, blind to everyone and everything save for herself and her utterly unjustified feeling of betrayal.

But now, she realized, she had a chance of undoing all her wrongdoings, of correcting her mistakes, of healing the wounds she’d inflicted on Keith.

And so, Allura made vows of her own, unknowingly matching most of the rest of the Castle’s inhabitants.

Fight. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. Nothing more, nothing less, until the war was won and Keith was back.

Back with a family that, this time, even if Allura were the only one to uphold it, would truly be one.

In the meantime, whereas the Paladins all had their very own realizations and revelations and made their very own vows, thus retrieving their will and setting themselves the unknowingly shared goal of getting Keith back, the last of the bunch, Coran, was aimlessly wandering the Castle’s halls, equally tired and strung up, unable to sleep.

Luckily for him, or so he dared say, because of not being a direct part of Voltron, he’d apparently avoided the brunt of the sudden depression that’d turned the last two, normally unremarkable quintants into a waking nightmare of continuously losing and having to retreat from increasingly difficult battles against ever-growing imperial forces, all the while suffering immense losses on the Coalition’s part and everything from minor to nigh life-threatening injuries on the Paladin’s part.

To put it into one sentence: The last two quintants had been the longest he’d ever experienced, with every single dobosh being dragged into the length of an entire varga.

But even so, at least compared to the Paladins, Coran had not brooded as much. And even though he had naturally come to some conclusions of his own as well, for example that he too had failed to make Keith feel included and welcome on the team after the reveal of his heritage, the frequent losses and retreats Voltron had to put up with placed quite a strain on the Castleship, thus creating an extensive demand for repairs of all kinds. A demand which Coran happily threw himself at, as a welcome means of distracting himself from the small amount of depression that’d found its way into his brain regardless of him being a mere liaison of Voltron.

And thus, Coran had nothing big enough to warrant a vow. A promise however, very much. So he silently promised to both himself and to the Paladins that he would do all in his power to aid their cause and their ways. And since he and all the Paladins sincerely hoped and worked towards this cause making them cross paths with Keith once more one day, he promised the same thing to him, wherever he may be.

He would do all in his power to aid the Paladins. And if the Paladin’s goal was reunification with Keith, then it was his goal as well.

Such was his duty as a royal advisor, and he gladly took it on.


	17. Forbidden fruit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This so fucking long I'd like to apologize in advance for making you read all this…  
> On the other hand, this chapter includes the long-awaited additional diary entries from Ke'Ith's diary many of you must've/have wished for…  
> Let the angst begin!   
> (Or rather, continue, but that's besides the point. Anyways, I hope this makes up for the time I didn't upload; life was busy and school started again, so yeah, enjoy.)

Shiro knew this was wrong. Shiro knew he shouldn’t do this. Shiro knew he’d only make matters worse.

But then again, how couldn’t he? How could he stand here, with Keith’s diary in his hand and the temptation to read it tormentingly strong in his mind, and still claim he shouldn’t? Or wouldn’t, actually…After all, even though he was a man of morals, Shiro also was, at times, a weak, weak man.

And he hated it.

However, there was something he hated more, even, no, especially after this shockwave of relief and hope had washed over him a few minutes ago.

He hated, with a passion he’d never known before, that Keith was gone. And, moreover, that it was his, Shiro’s, fault.

How could he bear this and not want to do anything about it?

He couldn’t bear it. Not at all.

So he flipped Keith’s diary open and starting reading.

Leaving the lounge and its promise of relaxation in favor of thoroughly exerting himself on the training deck felt a lot like walking in Keith’s footsteps to Lance. And even though he’d just regained his hope and his drive, he couldn’t help but continue mourning the loss of Keith and pondering the mysteries of his and the Red Paladin’s relationship.

Before he realized it, Lance had crossed half the distance to the training deck and found himself in the Paladin’s quarters, more specifically in front of Shiro’s room. What it was that’d pulled Lance out of his trance and made him stop? 

A sob.

Lance froze where he stood, unsure whether he’d just misheard. But even so, there was no denying whatever muffled and choked-off sound he’d just heard had come from Shiro’s room. Something about that didn’t compute with Lance, considering how Shiro, after his initial breakdown, had taken the loss of his de-facto-brother in stride and continued fulfilling his duties to the best of his ability.

But there it was again.

A sob.

And before Lance knew it, he’d moved and knocked on Shiro’s door. Belatedly, he realized what he’d just done, and guilt for eavesdropping on his leader in a vulnerable moment washed over him. But before he could back out of what he’d just gotten himself into, the door swished open.

Before him stood a dead-tired, wholly-wrecked Shiro, with red-rimmed eyes and an expression so somber even the darkest night paled in comparison.

“H-Hey, Shiro…”, Lance mumbled, lasting only a second before having to look away from the other’s dead, blank stare.

But as he turned his head and nervously rubbed his arm, Shiro’s unusual demeanor disappeared like a curse being lifted off him.

“Hey Lance!”, he said, attempting a small, yet visibly strained smile, “What’re you doing, being up this late? It’s quite uncommon for you to still be awake at this time, isn’t it?”

Shiro was rambling. And he sounded like he knew. So Lance didn’t answer, but instead turned back to look the other man in the eye and said, “I just wanted to check on you. It sounded like…I don’t know-Do you need help? Or someone…to talk to?”

Shiro’s smile broadened until it looked downright broken. “I’m fine.”, he said, and Lance couldn’t decide who of the two of them he was trying to convince. And then, even though Lance hadn’t said anything, Shiro went on in an insisting tone of voice, “Yeah, I’m fine. Totally fine.”

That creeped Lance out. A lot.

“Obviously, you’re not fine.”, he carefully tried, and Shiro may or may not have flinched, “Come on man, I’m not dumb enough to be fooled by that blatant lie. I’m here, and I can help. So, what’s up?”

“Oh, not much…”, Shiro said, his creepy grin slightly fading, and before Lance could call him out on lying again, he followed it up with, “Except for me belatedly realizing I never truly knew Keith, the person I was pretending to be the brother of.” Shiro deflated, chuckling self-depreciatingly. “God…He believed he’s the one who ruined my relationship with Adam…”

Everything suddenly made sense.

“You’ve read the diary, didn’t you?”, Lance asked.

Shiro’s smile fully fell, and he looked like he felt he just spilled too much. “Yes, I did.”, he admitted, sighing defeatedly.

Lance didn’t know what to say. Not because he was speechless, but because he should’ve known from the start; in hindsight, it was more than obvious – reading the diary wouldn’t leave anyone unscarred.

An awkward pause arose now that the two each tried to figure out whether there was anything else to be said.

And right into the middle of said pause, the door to the room right next to Shiro’s swished open and Pidge walked out, casting a secretive glance down the hall, freezing when she saw Lance and Shiro standing there.

Pidge was going to do this. She was strong, she was smart, she was determined. Pidge was going to read Keith’s diary, regardless of what Shiro or anyone else may do or say in response – if she got caught at all, that is; not that she didn’t consider it possible.

However, even so, backed with all kinds of reasons and motivations for doing what she was about to do, her boldness instantly evaporated the moment she stepped out into the corridor before her and the other’s rooms and glanced down the hall, finding Shiro and Lance standing there, staring at her. 

Her mind went blank and the first sound she brought out was a nervous cough that sounded more than just conspicuous.

“Hey guys,”, she said and attempted a smile, trying to cover up her surprise at already having been discovered on her nightly quest, “what you’re up to this late?”

“Same to you.”, Lance answered cautiously. “This is late, even for you, Pidge.”, Shiro added.

“Oh uh…is that so?”, Pidge asked, acting unaware of the current time and chuckling nervously, “I…uh…didn’t notice at all, haha…You know, time really flies when you work…”

They didn’t believe her at all, Pidge could see it. Nonetheless, however, Shiro’s sad smile softened and he shushed her.

“Go to bed, Pidge. Come one, off with you.”, he said. But then, his expression became a little more awake and he blinked at her before asking, “Actually, do you need something? Or…”, his expression soured, “did I wake you?”

“Wake me with what?”, Pidge asked back, now genuinely interested.

“He was reading the diary.”, Lance chimed in, much to Shiro’s chagrin, if the man’s facial expression was to be believed.

“The diary…Is that so…”, Pidge responded, unsure what to say or do now that all was said and done. The most logical choice would’ve probably been to go back to her room and try ‘borrowing’ the diary again at a later time, but for some reason neither her brain nor her body listened to her.

Which gave Shiro enough time to blink a little more sleep out of his eyes and focus on Pidge with a stare so wary she began sweating under it.

“What is it, Shiro?”, she asked.

“You want to read it, don’t you?”, Shiro countered straightforward, effectively derailing all of Pidge’s thought processes.

“W-What?”, she stuttered, “I-Uh…”

Under the Black Paladin’s expectant stare, she both recollected herself and broke. “Y-Yeah. I…uh…planned to do that…Yeah…”

Shiro sighed heartily and for just a split-second, the sad expression from earlier flashed over his face again before he visibly forced himself to smile and waved her closer. “Then come on in.”, he said and disappeared into his room, leaving the door open for it to close behind Lance and Pidge, both of which followed their leader in a daze.

Soon after, the three found themselves sitting on the edge of Shiro’s bed, with Pidge and Lance on either side of Shiro, the latter of which held Keith’s diary and began slowly flipping through the pages. With nothing else left to say or do, the three Paladins quietly read the diary to themselves in tangibly tense and increasingly horrified silence, regardless of whether they’d read all or any of it before.

And so, the three Paladins found themselves working through the diary page by page, tormenting themselves with Keith’s long passed suffering, but not even dreaming of leaving out so much as a single page, a single sentence, a single scribbling. 

And although some entries were rather normal, if always tinged with sad- and loneliness, and although a few entries, particularly the ones during Keith’s time at the Garrison with Shiro and Adam, showed some happiness, the entries that stood out the most were either a stay with an especially uncaring foster family or a new development in Keith’s essentially lone fight for survival. This not only made up for the little bits of normalcy Keith had been allowed in the past in a more than cruel way, but also made the Paladins gasp in shock, reread, tear up and break down over.

It was as if the all of Keith’s pain detailed in the diary had come alive, eating away at whomever dared read the diary. 

However, even so, they were the Paladins of Voltron, they were meant, no, born to push onwards, even if no one else did. They couldn’t and they wouldn’t falter in front of nothing but a book, regardless of its contents.

Besides, they had to read it anyways; after all, how would they come to truly understand Keith if not through reading his diary?

Thus, they powered on.

 

‘I wake up. I am still hungry. Or again? I don’t know. I don’t care. Everything hurts. Everyone hates me. But then again, how couldn’t they? I am me, after all. Keith ‘Useless’ Kogane. 

God, I think I never had a headache this bad before. Is this a migraine? I wouldn’t be surprised if it was. But I probably deserve no less. I guess. There’s nothing I can do anyways. I wish I was old enough to work already. Maybe then I could afford meds of my own or something. Or food. Or a blanket.’

 

‘Jesus Christ, why won’t my body catch up with my mind already? I wish I was mute or something. Then I wouldn’t be able to talk back. Then I wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor.  
But who cares about me (I myself…maybe…)? No one, that’s right. I’ve long given up asking for a blanket or stuff…wait…is this even the same family?  
God, everything is so blurred…’

 

‘At least the police are on my side…kinda. Well…maybe they’re also just not against me…not entirely…or something like that. They’re just doing their job, after all…

What happened? 

Well, it oughta be kind of obvious, shouldn’t it? I got caught stealing… 

But it’s not like I want to steal! Or get caught! I know it’s wrong! I just – I’m hungry, okay!? I mean…what am I to do when I get kicked out of my home…again. This time I don’t even know why… 

God, I am so sick of all this…and I already know what they’re going to say when the cops bring me back… “Oh, he must’ve run away – you know how it is! Thank you for returning him, officer!”’

 

‘If I’d known what’d happen, I’d have stolen a car way earlier…  
But seriously, what kind of guy basically adopts some random worthless orphan after I not only stole his car, but also took off with it to god knows where? 

And then he comes ‘round and goes, “Hey, bud. I kinda need that car, mind giving it back? Oh, also, how about you come by the Garrison some time in the foreseeable future, your simulator scores were absolutely amazing!” What does that last thing even mean? That I can get into the Garrison? Pfft, I better not start wasting my time entertaining a thought like that…That Shirogane guy is strange…or Shiro, like he asked me to call him…’

 

‘I was accepted. I was accepted! I WAS ACCEPTED! I WAS ACCEPTED INTO THE GARRISON! 

Jesus Christ, this might not outweigh all the shit life has given me so far, but it damn well feels like it! And I was formally adopted by Shiro and his boyfriend Adam too!

I would’ve never dared to dream of a time like this! Sure, aside from Shiro and Adam, everyone else might still hate me, but what do I care?! I can pursue my dreams! I can go to space! And I’m no longer an orphan! No more foster families!

On a slightly more serious note, this just has to be the happiest day of my life. I mean it. Even these words can’t properly express what I’m feeling right now.

In any case, I’m as grateful as can be. For Shiro. To Shiro. And for and to Adam as well.  
I never thought…I never thought I’d meet someone who’d not only not hate me from the get-go but befriend me and even try and support me.

God, I always thought I was too annoying and hateable and broken for all this…  
I guess this is what having a family is like…  
(I never want to lose it)’

‘Okay, so…my euphoria has taken somewhat of a backseat by now. I’m about a month into the Garrison’s fighter program and I’m beginning to see things more clearly, now that I’ve come down from my high. And while Shiro, Adam and the Garrison are still the best things to have ever happened to me, there’s something else now…something which I can deny no longer…

I’m in love.

That’s right. Keith Kogane, orphaned-but-then-adopted fighter-pilot-in-training is in love. With cute, kind, caring Lance McClain.

Yes, you’ve read that right. It was love at first sight and has steadily blossomed ever since. 

And assuming who I see when I come face to face with him is not an act – I know it isn’t, although even his confidence may waver at times – he’s just…the one.  
For as emotionally stunted as I may be, I do realize and now acknowledge that much.

But wait, you say, isn’t Lance McClain the one you met on the first day at the Garrison and tried to talk to but utterly messed up? 

Yes, that’s correct. Do you know what is also correct? 

That I am an absolute moron who can’t string two coherent words together without offending anybody, or so it seems. The only two exceptions being Shiro and Adam; after all, they’ve learned to take everything I say or do with a big fucking grain of salt.

Lance, however, has not learned that. And judging from his reaction, I doubt he’ll even try to now. God, he thought I was insulting him, and now we’re…rivals…or something like that? I just wanted to talk to him! Normally! Like normal people do! But I guess I’m not normal…

But even so, even if have no chance at all with Lance, I still…This will hurt so much when he finds someone like him, someone equal. You know, just perfect all around.

I mean, how can someone be this bright? Both in intellect and personality? Why was he placed into the cargo pilot program in the first place? I’ve seen what he can do and it’s just…it’s not fair! And on top of that, Commander Iverson seems to hate him too!

Which brings us to the next topic (Jesus Christ, this is getting way too long): Iverson. And by extension the other instructors too. And maybe the other cadets as well…

For all it seems, they share Lance’s sentiment on me. It might not be quite as strong as with him, but apparently, nobody really likes me; the students see me as some kind of anomaly that’s to be feared…

(Maybe some rumors about me spread around? It’s not impossible…) 

And even though most of the instructors, including Iverson, seem to hail me as some kind of prodigy (I don’t get it? Why???), they don’t miss even a single chance to reprimand me for even the slightest of mistakes and errors.

Oh, and because of my closeness with Shiro (I mean, he is the poster boy of the Garrison, after all…) everybody is…jealous…of me? I mean, some people glare at me practically all day. Like that Griffin kid.

But I don’t care much about all of that. I’ve got Shiro, I’ve got Adam, I’ve got my goal and I’ve got my crush. The latter of which I hope evolves from its one-sided nature…  
But we’ll see…’

 

‘Shiro is…No, it can’t be…He – He said he was coming back! He promised! As if it wasn’t bad enough he went to Kerberos in the first place! He can’t be dead! “Pilot error” my ass! Shiro isn’t the type of pilot to…to crash…and die! He just can’t be dead!

Adam is…I don’t even know. He just straight up disappeared. He probably knows already…  
God, everything is going to be so much worse now…without…without Shiro…without my brother…Shiro…Why?

…I think I’m going to look for Adam…or something like that…  
Does it even matter? Without…Shiro to bail me out every time I get in trouble I will…and the other students…and Lance…they will…

No, don’t think about it. That’s not going to happen. You’ll get your shit together. You won’t get expulsed from the Garrison. You’ll go to space.  
And you’ll find Shiro, dammit!  
I hope…’

 

‘If only anything would ever be as easy as it is said…

Now I…I’m homeless…and I have nowhere to go…no one wants me…not the Garrison, not Iverson, not Adam, not the other instructors, not the other cadets, not Lance…  
God, I swore to myself I wouldn’t let this happen…

But apparently my body has a mind of its own…I beat up people before I realize what I’m doing…being triggered by mere words…how pathetic…

First James, now Iverson…

I almost beat one to unconsciousness and practically gouged out the other’s eye…  
What I wouldn’t give for neither of them – and Lance, dammit – to hate me right now…

But both my dreams and rescuing Shiro are things of the past now…

Guess I’ll go back where it all started, this shitshow I call my life…

My dad’s shack…in the middle of the desert…surprisingly close to the Garrison but still far enough away for one to wonder whether he had to hide anything…or anyone…maybe he ran away with my mom from somewhere? I mean, I guess we’re kinda asian or something…

Maybe dad’s parents didn’t approve of my mom? They were right to do so…God, if I ever find her I’m going to wring her fucking neck…

But first I gotta survive…somehow…

So, I guess I have to go back to “borrowing things indefinitely” …

Jesus Christ, I hate myself…’

 

‘So…space, huh? Never thought I’d get to see it after…well, whatever.

Yeah. Right. Whatever. 

What matters now is the present…not the past…

Guess that means I’ll have to put myself in line behind winning the war…and freeing the universe…  
God, the entire fucking universe is on goddamn fire and mankind didn’t even know…talk about ignorance being both a blessing and a curse…

The latter of which I seem to have plenty of. Curses, I mean. 

After all, Lance is here…And not only is he as hellbent as ever on pursuing this dumb rivalry I didn’t want, but he also…found his…prince charming…

Or princess charming, I guess…What was her name – Allura? Smart, sweet, fucking royalty, good with words and even better with – admittedly, even though I am as gay as can be – looks…  
Neither of which I can offer…I wish I had just half her sense of fashion…maybe then Lance would notice me…

But I guess I finally gotta get over him…Maybe we can just be friends…  
Like I hope I can be with the others too…that Pidge guy, I mean, and that engineer – Hunk, I think – and…Coran, was it?

But then again, first and foremost, Shiro. Shiro is back. I can’t even believe it, but it’s true. He’s real, he’s back, he’s Shiro. I can’t even put into words how much I missed – needed – him…my brother…

And there we go; the team is complete…the Paladins of Voltron…the defenders of the universe…

Laughable. As if I’d ever be able to defend something or someone successfully…I can only destroy…  
And even though that’s my only real quality, I can’t even be proud of it…

…Here goes nothing…’


	18. Awakening

Ke’Ith woke feeling raw, exhausted and worn down to the point even just thinking about moving from whatever warmth he was embraced in right now seemed distant and unjustified, hidden behind a veil of comfort; after all, Ke‘Ith reckoned he couldn‘t get up even if he’d wanted to. And neither was he sure whether he‘d like to actually try and get up from wherever he was resting – he was so at ease and at peace with himself, relaxed to a level of almost complete disconnect from the conscious world, with the latter seeming so far away it was as if his troubles didn‘t matter, didn‘t have to be addressed, didn‘t have to be combated, didn‘t have to be resolved in this very moment.

Everything was so far away – until the warmth shifted. It did so just ever so slightly, yet it was enough to make Ke‘Ith crack open an eye.

“Hhnng?”, he groaned incoherently, still trapped between being asleep and being awake.

“Shh…”, someone soothed, and Ke’Ith felt a clawed hand being carded through his hair and over his scalp, and he would’ve almost fallen asleep and drifted back into comforting, weightless unconsciousness again, had the voice not continued speaking; whoever was currently shushing him (still) needed to learn that utter quiet was the most important prerequisite for Ke’Ith to actually fall asleep and not just doze off more or less comfortably. 

“Shh…”, the voice whispered again, “Rest up. You’re safe here.”

Ke’Ith groaned annoyedly in response and forced his eyes open enough to see who was dragging him away from the precipice of comfortable rest.

Staring back at him was his mother, fully clothed, smiling, face framed by the darkness of wherever they were.

“Hey there.”, she said, but her face fell before she finished the first word. Looking guilty, she asked, “I woke you up, didn’t I?”

True to form of simply shrugging off minor discomforts like insufficient sleep, Ke’Ith shook his head; a gesture which should’ve served to dispel his mother’s worries but made her cock an eyebrow instead.

“We’re connected again, Ke’Ith.”, she reminded him – and stars above, everything came back at once – “I can feel you lying just for my sake.”

Ke’Ith ducked his head in shame. Naturally, he should’ve figured lying to someone who had a certain insight into one’s own head would’ve gone down badly. He’d done it before…before his- he’d done it before too. Lying to her about how he was, talking himself down in his own head. 

Additionally, for all he knew, his mother could still do a complete turn on her behavior – he’d known her for how long, after all? Four days? Five? Did the time he’d been dead even count? And yet, experiencing the tiniest bit of care, he’d thrown himself at her as if he was asking to get hurt, to get rejected for his neediness, his cravings, be they for attention or even affection; he had to be careful not to be too greedy-

“With me, you can be as needy and greedy as you want, Ke’Ith.”, Honerva interrupted his train of thought, chastising him with a warm smile, “You don’t have to hold back. We have 18 whole years to catch up on. And you are clearly touch-starved. Now c’mere.”

And with that said, Honerva held out her arms, asking to hug and to be hugged. Under her warm, expectant gaze, any inhibitions Ke’Ith might’ve still had in his half-awake state melted away and faded into the back of his mind while he rose into a sitting position and held onto his mom for all he held dear in his life. The latter of which, while not much, meant the world to him, particularly his mother herself, regardless of how long he actually knew her, regardless of whether the care in her touch was real or fake; she could calm him like none ever could before and – most probably even without the psychic bond – understand him better than anyone else.

However, even so, the latter irked Ke’Ith in a special way – in the sense that he wanted to understand his mom as well. Not only that, but now that he thought about it, in addition to his mother, there were great many things he wanted to know about.

The Druids. The Empire at large. The universe in general. Its past. Its present. Its future.

There was so much he wanted to ask his head very nearly burst with a sudden headache brought about by the myriad of questions he had in mind.

However, ever so knowingly, ever so warmly, his mom smiled and asked, “What do you want to know?”

So Ke’Ith asked.


	19. A lot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worldbuilding is fun…but you shouldn't do it in the middle of a story…  
> Anyways, here are some of my takes on the Universe of Voltron and a little more plot!
> 
> Also, I'd like to ask something: What tags do you think could be added to this fic (both current parts)?

In the end, Ke’Ith and his mother talked for what must’ve been vargas, exchanging facts and stories all the same. 

While Ke’Ith offered what Honerva didn’t know about Earth, mankind and all tied to either or both of those, his mom supplied him with all she knew about the universe. The latter of which was unfathomably much, considering she was not only part Altean, a species of avid explorers and diplomats, but also High Priestess of the Druids of the Galra Empire and as such had nigh unrestricted access to the Imperial Archives which contained more or less the sum of all Galran knowledge about the universe and everything in it.

Both mother and son learned a lot during these vargas – and bonded even more. Retelling his childhood with his highly attentive mom as the sole listener worked wonders, lifting a burden off his heart he hadn’t known existed. Honerva didn’t interrupt, didn’t shower him in unnecessary pity, didn’t feign full understanding (“It takes one to know one, you know?”, she’d said, “And I wasn’t an orphan in my childhood. God, I should’ve never left you on Earth…”), she just…listened, took note, asked when and where it was adequate, and, or so Ke’Ith soon noticed, directed him towards constructively processing his past for once.

Which he was insanely grateful for, more than he could put into words. However, even so, he tried to vocalize what he felt, but before he knew it, he’d moved and tightly hugged his mom, conveying his feelings through touch. His mother had just smiled, chuckled and put her arms around him.

In return, Ke’Ith, guided by his mother, systematically explored the universe he lived in, beyond the confines of being trapped on one planet in one solar system – which was the Earth, respectively Sol, in his case.

Ke’Ith learned so very much that this time, he was truly afraid his head might burst. But then again, his mom’s style of retelling stories and presenting facts was very pleasant, not to say perfect. Everything she put into words made complete sense, was always linked to something she’d taught him before and noticeably expanded his knowledge every single time. And so, fact after fact, story after story, he got to know and understand the universe and its workings.

A sizeable portion of the universe and its general workings, anyways; after all, compared its sheer size, a few vargas were nowhere near enough to effectively explain the universe. However, even so, in a twisted sense, the Empire had ‘helped’ with that by ‘unifying’ most of the known universe under their rule.

Currently, Honerva was explaining exactly that – or rather, how it’d come to be. The Empire itself and its fanatic imperialism, that is.

“It’s quite a tragic story actually.”, she said, looking genuinely saddened, “It shows how war can change and twist even the proudest of races. You know, the Galra weren’t always the warmongering, enslaving conquerors we know today. And while I don’t think I need to remind you that Quintessence plays a pivotal role in that development, the Empire and its imperialistic tendencies came to be much earlier. 

You see, the Galra of today are the descendants of the survivors of a global nuclear war on Daibazaal. In what about resembles Earth’s 20th and 21st century, technological development picked up a pace greater than what society could stomach. 

And although the nations of Daibazaal had lived rather peacefully on the previously very lush planet, having little need for war or conquest given the planet’s immense size and abundance of natural resources evenly spread across it, technological development, respectively society lagging behind, triggered a wave of nationalism and protectionism, with each side arguing the other could strike and disrupt the increasingly fragile peace at any moment. At that point, every single nation already possessed a sizeable array of all kinds of weapons of mass destruction. 

In the end, all it took was a small spark to set the planet afire. Some long-forgotten and quite possibly absolutely meaningless diplomatic incident triggered a war between two nations, which in turn pulled their neighbors into the conflict, each of them joining a side, and suddenly, all five continents on Daibazaal had joined a full-scale exchange of nuclear weaponry. 

When the realization of what they’d done set in, it was already too late; the fallout wiped out all of Daibazaal’s nations, leaving behind a dystopia of nuclear winter, survivors scavenging the now barren lands and warlords struggling for control over both territory and resources. It was a lawless, harsh time, called by the few who still know of it ‘The Great Struggle’.

Born into that time was our first Emperor. Originally a small regional warlord, Brodar soon realized the masses needed, wanted more than a guarantee of survival. So he gave them a dream. The dream of a united Daibazaal.

With a strong leader and a unified government, he argued, there not only wouldn’t be anymore wars, but there couldn’t be anymore wars. Quite cleverly, he staged himself as said leader, and as many answered his call and fought under his banner, he steadily expanded, first conquering one, then two, then three, then four and finally all five continents of Daibazaal. And thus he was crowned first Emperor of the Galra Empire.

Of course, that didn’t immediately end the Great Struggle. Much of Daibazaal’s surface was still contaminated, many species, both plants and animals, had died out. However, combining robust, intuitive technology with a new surge of militarism and traces of feudal society, Brodar succeeded in reintroducing technology to his wary peers and binding his vassals to his will.

Naturally, Daibazaal soon became too small for the Empire – this happened during the time of our second Emperor – so the Empire turned its gaze towards the stars. With little reluctance it was decided to start a space program, which fared quite well actually, leading to colonization after colonization and even the discovery of a few sentient, but not yet sapient species.

Soon after, the Empire encountered the Kingdom of Altea and…well, you know the rest.”

After Honerva had ended with her story, Ke’Ith took a bit of time to process all she’d just told him. However, in the end, he could only nod. Everything his mother had said made sense and fit into what he’d seen of the Galra so far. 

He himself was a good example, considering his recent ennoblement, the strict hierarchy he was expected to fit into (Although ‘strict’ was relative in his case, seeing as his considerable talent as a Druid had catapulted him into what appeared like the highest echelon of the Empire right away.) and the fact that everyone he’d met so far belonged with the military in one way or another.

“Many aspects also carry over to today, with most of them being amplified, actually.”, his mother added as an afterthought, tearing Ke’Ith out of his headspace and making way for new questions.

“So my ennoblement – for whatever that may be – also…?”, he asked, but was interrupted by his mom.

“Yes, that too.”, she answered, “However, while they still resemble their medieval counterparts in terms of being lent territory to rule over with considerable independence by their ruler, today’s Lords are more like the Emperor’s special operatives, occasionally or permanently trusted with delicate tasks by Zarkon himself. I myself am a Lord – well, Lady – of the Empire as well. My mission is permanent – fulfilling the role of High Priestess of the Druid Order.”

“I see.”, Ke’Ith simply said. Like before, there wasn’t much to say. However, he still had one last question.

“What have I been ennobled for?”, he inquired bluntly. Frankly, there was no other way to put it. He’d died and come back – Wow, cool. But did that really warrant the privileges he’d apparently been granted? 

Honerva looked him straight in the eye once again, motionless, speechless.

“Please tell me you’re not seriously asking that.”, she said, “Please. You can’t be serious. And I can sense your thoughts.”

“I am seriously asking that.”, Ke’Ith answered, steadfastly clueless as can be.

His mother sighed. “You literally sacrificed yourself, flung your very being in the line of fire and saved not only me by doing that, but also the Emperor, all of High Command and about a quarter million of other personnel. And on top of that, your little speech on why a ruler shouldn’t keep his distance from his subjects has inspired the Emperor to completely reform and fully mobilize our military, which has led to us not losing anymore territory to the Coalition. Honestly, I’d be more surprised if you wouldn’t have been honored for that. After all, for all the changes we as a people went through since the Great Struggle, we still retained some of the meritocratic structures and beliefs of old.” 

“Aha.”, Ke’Ith responded, “So…does that mean I too get…my own lands…to rule over? And a special mission?”

“Indeed.”, Honerva answered, verifying Ke’Ith’s fears.

“But I never ruled over anything!”, he objected, “God, most of the time I don’t even have myself i-!”

“Ke’Ith.”, his mom calmly interrupted, laying a warm hand on his shoulder. “We have a saying in the Empire. ‘Do or die trying.’, it says. And I’m fully convinced you’ll be able to make do. As should you. Trust me, you’re stronger than you think. You’ll power through any mishaps; of that I am sure. And before you’ll know it, you’ll be a Lord as fine as any other, possibly even better…And let’s not forget the planetary governors who’ll be serving and taking most work off you anyways.”

Ke’Ith exhaled audibly and sighed. “Fine.”, he conceded.

Honerva smiled warmly and folded her hands in her lap. “I imagine you’ll get your first – or permanent – mission after you finish your training and become a full-fledged Druid.”

“Ok.”, Ke’Ith answered, “I can work with that.” 

With their conversation having come to an end, most of his questions answered and his worries at least partially alleviated, he looked around. He instantly recognized the room, even though it was mostly shrouded in darkness and he’d been here for maybe one and a half quintants in total. 

“We’re back on the Eternal Empire?”, he asked, continuing to let his gaze wander around the Druid’s quarters.

“Yes, we are. After you blacked out and I carried you from the Emperor’s chambers, the Emperor ordered our return to Celestial Throne.”

“Celestial Throne?”, Ke’Ith asked, confused, but suspecting a possible answer.

“The inofficial – yet sole real name – for the star system in which the Eternal Empire usually resides.”, his mother responded.

Ke’Ith nodded, having his suspicion confirmed. “Wait,”, he then said, “the Eternal Empire was at Feyiv?”

Honerva shrugged. “Well, yeah.”, she quipped. “Actually, the fleet accompanying the Eternal Empire was also there.”, she continued, more serious, “After all, the Emperor ordered everyone you saved to  
appear for your funeral. And since you saved me, many circles of Druids came as well.”

“Circles?”, Ke’Ith asked, confused, but suspecting a possible answer yet again.

“Regionally based collectives of Druids whose leaders answer to me through my four assistants, the Druids of the Four Directions. In the Order, we unofficially call the circles ‘families’.”, Ke’Ith’s mother explained, leaving Ke’Ith to do no more than simply nod once more. 

“Actually,”, she went on, “I was thinking about making you the fifth Druid – of the Fifth Direction, naturally – after you finish your training.”

Taking a moment of time to seriously contemplate his mother’s offer, Ke’Ith couldn’t help but marvel its simplistic elegance and all the thought that had quite apparently gone into it. After all, in taking up the offer, he’d get to stay close to his mother and the Druid Order, both of which would help, if not guarantee him staying afloat in the Empire’s hierarchy and its network of power and politics.

Now, what Ke’Ith had paraphrased so simple was nothing more than the bare truth.

A truth which he hadn’t realized until just a few vargas ago; at the start of his questioning, when he’d asked his mom to explain the Empire in detail once more, he’d been presented with a truth as inarguable as obvious:

The Empire – at large and as a whole – was founded on a contradiction.

The Galra were supposed to stand united, a harmonious collective serving only their shared will for endless conquest, the latter of which was orchestrated by their Emperor, and yet they thrived on nothing but ruthless competition, following only the primordial principle drilled into their very genes by the Great Struggle: The survival of the fittest.

To put it shortly: The Galra were nowhere near as united as one might believe. Competition and rivalry within and in between the Navy, the Army and the Druids was fierce, deadly and never-ending, with the sole purpose of ensuring one’s own survival, prosperity and the favor of the Emperor.

Thus, it came at no great surprise that the Emperor not only knew of, but actively utilized the constant competition and rivalry to further his and by extension the Empire’s cause. After all, if his military leaders conspired against one another, they could not conspire against him. On top of that, said cutthroat politics also led to the formation of a highly capable elite, allowing only the most talented and hard-working personnel to ever truly stand beside the Emperor.

Part of said personnel were the Druids. And if Ke’Ith didn’t stay close to them, the people who knew best how to navigate these unsafe waters so to say, he might drown at any given moment. After all, even his power could be abused, even he could become a pawn in a greater scheme or of a greater power. No one was untouchable.

And although Ke’Ith most definitely disliked the prospect of constant betrayal and chicanery, a small part of him, one that hadn’t been there before, sympathized with, even outright relished in the concept of no mercy being granted and none being expected, be it in war or in politics.

His mother was the same as him in that respect, he’d learned soon after. 

However, The Universe 101 soon came to an abrupt halt as a knock sounded on the door which Ke’Ith and his mother sat only a few steps away from.

“Come in.”, Honerva said, answering the unspoken request. She narrowed her eyes. No Druid of hers ever knocked, not to mention that none of them should be back from work by now…

The door whooshed open and a sentry staggered in. Scanning the room, its gaze landed on Ke’Ith and Honerva, the former of which the sentry locked in on.

“Master Ke’Ith, your presence has been requested by the Emperor. Please follow me.”, it said, turning on its heel as soon as it finished, leaving Ke’Ith to scramble after it, hastily putting on his robes and his mask.

Right before the door to the Druid’s quarters closed, Ke’Ith cast a look over his shoulder, back towards his mom. Judging by her expression, she was as surprised as he himself. However, there was an equally large – and unreadable – part to her expression; furrowed brows, mouth drawn in a straight, thin line – it made him wonder what he could suddenly have been summoned for.

Honerva looked after her son long after the doors had shut again. What could it be he was suddenly called to the Emperor for? She wondered, and for some reason, she couldn’t help but worry.

But before she drowned in her restlessness and probably unfounded concern, she forced herself to do something productive, something she’d better get done sooner rather than later.

“Why, hello, High Priestess. What do I owe the honor of you calling so soon already again to? I’m not lagging behind schedule, am I now?”

“Greetings to you too, doctor. No, you’re not lagging behind schedule, not at all. Besides, that is not what I am calling you for.”

“I see. In that case, what’s the matter? I am not being fired, am I?”

“You’re the very best I have, doctor, I wouldn’t dream of it. But enough with the pleasantries already, the matter at hand is fairly urgent; Project Kuron needs to be partially repurposed.”

“What for, if I may ask?”

“I need you to grow a clone, a spare body of sorts, of the person whose medical files and samples of genetic material and Quintessence I will send to you shortly.”

“A spare…body?”

“Just a body, no deformations, no ‘improvements’, no questions asked.”

“Very well…Ah, files received! Let’s see…Oh! I get it! Although I was under the impression that you have only son…Is the body transfer technique even doable yet?”

“No, it isn’t. But I’m hoping we’ll be able to perfect it before Ke’Ith…You get the picture…Alright, there you have your orders. Do what you can do best, doctor. Vrepit sa!”

“As you wish, High Priestess. Vrepit sa!”


	20. The 103rd of his kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first part of a scene spanning multiple chapters - that's just how long this got. I hope you enjoy! Tell me if you do!

Ke’Ith didn’t know what’d gotten into the crew of the Eternal Empire, he really didn’t know. But somehow, for whatever obscure reason it may be, everyone was staring at him as the sentry guided him towards the throne room. Be it intent glaring or occasional glancing, everyone, regardless of rank or profession, laid their eyes on him, surprised, awed even. Some even visibly stepped out of his way, bowing their heads respectfully.

This was way out of Ke’Ith’s depth and he didn’t have a single clue as to what to make of this. His hatred for being the center of attention much must’ve showed – the more attentive among the masses he passed quickly resumed their work and turned away from him, which Ke’Ith was more than grateful for.

All too soon, he arrived in front of the throne room, having had no time to think about what to make of either the stares or his sudden summon by the Emperor; of course, he could imagine a myriad of reasons for both, but neither did he have time to ponder any of them nor concrete evidence to back them up. 

Thus, as the Imperial Guardsmen left and right of the gate leading to the throne room saluted and pushed the gate open for him, granting him entrance, he was entirely unprepared. Nonetheless, he entered. He had to, after all. And given his curiosity, he wanted to as well.

The impression the throne room had made on him when he’d been there for the first time must’ve been a lasting one; Ke’Ith faltered in his step a little upon entering. However, that wasn’t all there was to it; flanking the path towards the throne and the Emperor himself, the latter of which awaited him on the other end of the room on his throne, were roughly one hundred Galra, all sporting ceremonial armor complete with a cape, each one more regal than the next. Or her, for that matter; from what Ke’Ith saw, members of all sexes were present as well as some like him – ‘halfbreeds’.

Ke’Ith had to admit he was a bit perplexed; it looked like a ceremony or ritual of sorts was about to take place, with him, the last ingredient missing for its completion, now present.

Or at least that was what it seemed like as Zarkon rose from his throne and motioned him closer.

Having no other real option, Ke’Ith obliged.

Moving past the Galra to his left and right, Ke’Ith cast a closer look at them, noticing that all of them were armed to the teeth, sporting ornate swords, blasters and rifles belted to their hips and backs. 

Ke’Ith also noticed how all of the men and women present saluted him as he passed them, putting a balled fist over their heart with a fervor Ke’Ith had yet to observe in anyone else, thus giving him all the more reason to assume this to be the Empire’s elite…

The Lords! The Lords of the Empire! Why didn’t he think of that before? He’d just talked about them with his mother, he himself was one of them, and considering their equipment, their armament, yes, their mere presence, was more than enough proof!

Although that realization was neither very profound nor far-fetched, it still upended Ke’Ith’s point of view quite considerably. Reflecting on the situation he found himself in, he guessed this had to be a ceremony of sorts, serving whatever purpose required all Lords and Ladies of the Empire to be present. Most of them, anyways…Why wasn’t his mom here as well?

As he came closer, the Emperor descended the stairs to his throne, appearing right before Ke’Ith in all the grandeur an intergalactic ruler possessed, towering over Ke’Ith with his entire three meters of height like a looming threat.

As Ke’Ith arrived in front of the throne, Zarkon pinned him down with a stare, eyes narrowed but mouth quirked upwards in semblance of a smile. A genuine smile at that, too.

“Kneel before your Emperor, my son.”, Zarkon declared, raising his voice, drawing any and all attention towards him and Ke’Ith, who felt the stares all over as if they were burning holes into his back; he shivered under his robes, but otherwise quickly obliged the Emperor’s orders.

But why did Zarkon call him his son? He was only…his stepson…and a Lord of the Empire. Fair enough; maybe it was a ceremonial form of address – although the breathless gasp that went through the room at the Emperor’s address directed towards him made Ke’Ith revise his newfound assumption on the spot.

Not for long though; Zarkon continued talking, turning to the Lords in front of him.

“Greetings, Lords and Ladies of the Empire. It is most pleasing to see you having appeared so very numerously on this great quintant.”

Gesturing towards Ke’Ith, the Emperor went on. “As is obvious, this quintant is not great without reason. We have gathered here to welcome a new member among your ranks, one that is not to be underestimated. Although he is young and inexperienced, he has already influenced the Empire to a degree which ensured its survival for millennia to come! Applaud him! Applaud Ke’Ith of House Kogane, the 103rd Lord of the Galra Empire!”

A thundering round of applause nearly deafened Ke’Ith, who dazedly tried to process all the information suddenly dumped on him. As it seemed, this truly was his initiation ceremony as a Lord…Ke’Ith of House Kogane…he couldn’t say he disliked the sound of that, the Emperor’s praise itself much less. 

Yet, for as much as Ke’Ith enjoyed this entire situation, he wasn’t blind; the applause which went on and on – for as long as the Emperor himself clapped, anyways – was only superficially genuine, employed to hide the other Lord’s contempt, distrust and jealousy, all of which, while not audible, were certainly visible; Ke’Ith felt the stares all over again, saw them even; stories of his…deeds must have spread.

As the crowd quieted down, the Emperor continued, solemnly declaring, “Now, let us begin. He who has proven his worth in body and in mind, he who has exceled in combat and did not hesitate facing danger incarnate, he who made the ultimate sacrifice and returned shall receive all honors, shall receive what he rightfully deserves!”

Waving someone behind him forward, Zarkon exclaimed, “Archivist! Hand me the sword so our newest Lord may receive his accolade as is custom!”

True enough, out of the throne’s shadow stepped the Archivist, standing tall and regal, carrying an ornamental sword in both hands, palms facing upwards, fingers unclenched.

All this Ke’Ith observed, thinking all the harder the longer this ceremony went on; there was just…so much to process. And it kept piling up on and on…

The Archivist moved forward, soundlessly gliding across the floor in his black robes, eliminating the few steps of distance between him and the Emperor, taking a knee and raising the sword he held upon arriving next to him.

“O greatest conqueror of all,”, he said, seemingly reciting a rehearsed text, “have this most common tool of ours and wield it as an instrument, as an expression of your power and authority. Wield it so that we may persist, and he may receive what he has justly earned. Vrepit sa!”

“Vrepit sa!”, the Emperor answered, putting a fist to his chest. The Lords and Ladies joined him, saluting in unison, chanting.

“Vrepit sa!”

Zarkon raised the sword and laid its flat side on Ke’Ith’s left shoulder. It felt cold and hard even through his robes, but he felt a sudden, unexpected rush of excitement and pride nonetheless.

“Vrepit sa!”

The Emperor lifted the sword to touch Ke’Ith’s right shoulder. Ke’Ith’s rush morphed into full exhilaration, stroking a part of his ego he didn’t even know existed.

“Vrepit sa!”

Lastly, the Emperor raised the sword to lay it upon Ke’Ith’s bent head. It was a heavy weight, more mentally than physically even, but Ke’Ith accepted it.

“Vrepit sa!”

With Ke’Ith’s accolade over, Zarkon returned his arm and thus the sword to his side. He smiled. And although it was the smile of a man responsible for billions of deaths and trillions of enslaved, the underlaying pride Ke’Ith could see in his gaze nearly made all his concerns vanish on the spot. Nearly.

“Vrepit sa!”

The Emperor chuckled, and, as if reacting to an unspoken command, all other noise slowly faded out, the former of which, considering what Ke’Ith knew about the Lords so far, might’ve well been true. 

“Now then,”, Zarkon said, clearly relishing in the sudden quiet, “there are great many blessings, both material and immaterial, I wish to bestow upon you in recognition of your efforts in service of the Empire, Lord Ke’Ith, some of which we may discuss in a more private setting. However, first and foremost, take this.”

Raising a hand and flipping the palm upwards, the Emperor produced a small, black-and-purple keycard, occupied by a lettering in both Galran and Universal Standard. ‘Ke’Ith of House Kogane/Lord of the Empire/Imperial Inquisitor’ it read, accompanied by a portrait of Ke’Ith he hadn’t even known had ever been made.

Now, the first two points of his keycard he was familiar with, but the last one…

“My Emperor, what-“, he tried to ask, but was blatantly interrupted by Zarkon saying, “This is your personal keycard, serving as a secondary method of identification, as a key to your castle, the specifics of which we shall discuss at a later time, and to your personal flagship, which is heading towards this system as we speak.”

Ignoring a second attempt of Ke’Ith to question his explanations, the Emperor continued, turning towards the other Lords, gaze slightly hardening. “Now, as hinted just before, my other gifts for Lord Ke’Ith require a revision with less spying eyes and ears present, if you may excuse the implication. Until further notice, you are dismissed. Vrepit sa.”

Albeit visibly surprised and disgruntled at being excluded from the ennoblement ceremony so abruptly, the Lords and Ladies obliged nonetheless, saluting like one man and silently excusing themselves.

As the gate feel shut behind the last Lord with a resounding thrum, the Emperor deflated noticeably.

“Finally.”, he breathed.


	21. Gifts and Graditude

Ke’Ith didn’t know how and whether at all to respond to that. So he didn’t, keeping his mouth shut, waiting.

The Emperor sighed and turned away from Ke’Ith, facing the large windows and letting his face be illuminated by the distant stars’ glow, hands loosely folded behind his back. His very posture spoke of barely contained exhaustion. Absentmindedly, Zarkon gestured for Ke’Ith to rise from his kneeling position.

Ke’Ith obliged the unspoken order, grimacing beneath his mask as his knees protested the motion; the ceremony must’ve taken longer than it’d felt like.

Standing, Ke’Ith waited for the Emperor to continue talking; as blatantly as he’d been interrupted before, he’d rather the Emperor volunteer the information he had in store for him. And Ke’Ith was sure the Emperor would. Eventually. Maybe.

As the doboshes went on and Ke’Ith grew more and more confused, he let his gaze wander through the throne room, casting a closer look at the room in which some of his most pivotal moments and decisions had taken place.

Standing in the shadow of the throne, Ke’Ith found the Archivist, but with how very still the other was, he might as well have been part of the scenery. And considering what Ke’Ith knew about him from his mother, the Archivist sure wasn’t one to treat any information exchanged in this, as the Emperor had called it, private setting, as anything less than confidential.

Eventually, Ke’Ith turned to look out the window as well.

After some more time, right before Ke’Ith’s confusion reached its tipping point, the Emperor spoke up.

“I’m tired, Ke’Ith.”, he said, having exchanged the volume of his voice for sheer emotion put into any and every word. Emotion which, frankly, Ke’Ith wouldn’t have trusted him to be capable of. But it was there, indisputably. And that confused him all the more, even more than it fueled his curiosity.

“Tired of what, my Emperor?”, he carefully asked.

Zarkon opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I don’t even know.”, he admitted. “Everything, possibly.”

“And why is that?”, Ke’Ith asked.

“I’ve achieved so much and ruled for so long, Ke’Ith.”, the Emperor said, “Singular achievements, even time itself had begun to lose all meaning to me.”

Ke’Ith listened attentively before he made a rash comment. This, he realized, was a privilege few, if any at all, had ever enjoyed. Zarkon, Emperor of the Galra Empire, Conqueror of Worlds, Scourge of the Universe, arch-nemesis of Voltron, laid his innermost thoughts bare before him. This was as much an opportunity to learn what a 10.000-year-old being had to teach as it was to be respected, for the same and many more reasons.

He went to reply, but the Emperor forestalled him.

“I truly believed all this”, he gestured around enough for Ke’Ith to get what he meant, “would go on forever. All this conquering, Quintessence-mining, scheming and whatnot – it was a cycle I was growing increasingly bored of as time went on. How my subordinates don’t have the same problem I’ll never know. Everything dissolved into a dull thrum, every day was the same as the day before. And when Voltron came about, I didn’t even know what to do, reacted clumsily, uselessly killed and sacrificed millions of men, women, children even, to defend territory which was never truly mine to begin with. I was a marionette with cut strings, occupying a throne both too small and too large for me.”

Zarkon chuckled. “What a joke…”

“My Emperor,”, Ke’Ith said, raising his voice to protest, “you’re not-!” Ke’Ith broke off, not knowing what to say. 

This was way out of his depth. 

He settled on, “But not all is lost…”, a moment later.

He must’ve said something right, because the Emperor turned a little more towards him, his face now showing something besides a tired, dull sadness.

“But not all is lost…”, Zarkon repeated, making it sound almost like a mantra. 

The Emperor turned back towards the window. “Not all is lost…”, he mumbled to himself.

Then he whirled around again. And jabbed a finger towards Ke’Ith.

“And that is because of you.”, the Emperor emphasized. “You and you alone. Not High Command, not Haggar, not Voltron, not even the war itself has managed to shake me out of my stupor, broken the spell of lethargy weighing on me quite like you did. You’ve rekindled my fire, and for that you’ll have my eternal gratefulness.”

Ignoring Ke’Ith’s attempt at protest – Had he really done that much? – Zarkon added, “Gratefulness which I may never be able to properly express. Nevertheless, I shall try. So, please, accept my gifts without the protest you’ve been putting up so far.”

“But my Emperor,”, Ke’Ith protested, realizing how very paradoxical him saying this was, now that the Emperor had asked him to say no more, “what did I even do?”

Zarkon scoffed amusedly. “On old Daibazaal, before even the Great Struggle, there was a saying. ‘The pen is mightier than the sword.’ And while that may not be true anymore with how our society has changed, I do not think the same goes for words. After all,”, he said, emphasizing his words with another jab of his finger, “your little speech on why a ruler keeping his distance from his subjects is ultimately detrimental has been the push I needed. After I’d heard your speech, even if I hadn’t shown it, even if I hadn’t fully realized it myself yet, I was alive again. You’ve resurrected me as much as the Qualifiers have ten long millennia ago, Ke’Ith. I must thank you for that, with or without your consent. So, what will it be?”

Ke’Ith was overwhelmed. All around. No sound came from his throat, no twitch from his muscles; he was frozen. Frozen in awe and in confusion.

But then he made his decision.

So he bowed his head and said, “I accept your gifts, my Emperor.”

Zarkon inclined his head a little and closed his eyes. “A wise choice.”, he said, then added a tick later, “Let us get to it right away. Archivist, the robes, if you would.”

As the addressed man hurried to execute the Emperor’s order, fetching whatever robes the former had demanded, Zarkon himself returned to his throne and sat down, lively as never before.

Shortly thereafter, the Archvist returned from wherever he’d gone, carrying a bundle of black fabric with a stark white object on top. 

Ke’Ith froze up as soon as he realized what the bundle was – and more importantly, what it implied.

“My Emperor,”, Ke’Ith said, tasting protest on the tip of his tongue but swallowing it just in time for it to become surprise, “I’m-?”

“That is correct!”, Zarkon declared in response, cutting Ke’Ith, “I have decided to promote you not only to Lord of the Empire, but Imperial Inquisitor as well! The man who saved the Empire shan’t remain a mere Lord! All hail Imperial Inquisitor Ke’Ith of House Kogane!”

Ke’Ith looked down onto the keycard he’d been handed earlier. ‘Ke’Ith of House Kogane/Lord of the Empire/Imperial Inqusitor’ it read, just the same as before.

“So that’s that.”, he concluded out aloud and saw the Emperor nodding in response in his peripheral vision.

“Very well.”, he added a moment later and looked up. “But what does an Imperial Inquisitor even do?”

“That I shall tell you once you’ve put on your new robes.”, Zarkon answered, waving the Archivist forward, who in turn approached Ke’Ith and handed the newly minted Inquisitor his robes and all that went with them. 

The bundle was heavier than expected; unfolding it, Ke’Ith discovered it to consist of more than the mask and black robes he’d seen earlier. Aside from the former two, the bundle also contained new combat boots, matching the robes in color, as did the gloves he found a tick later. On top of that, with the bundle came an equally black cloak to be worn above the robes as well.

Ke’Ith had to admit he rather liked this supposed new outfit of his; the robes’ fabric was warm to the touch, fairly thick and heavy, yet finely woven. Compared to these robes, his current ones were almost scratchy.

Not only that, but while his new outfit was mostly a solid black, the few accents of color on it had been well set; with his stark-white mask as a counterweight to his entirely black cloak, gloves and boots and the robes themselves being a mix of mostly black with a few intricate purple patterns at the hems, his outfit was decently fashionable, or so he liked to think.

However, now that he’d assessed his new clothes, where…?

“Put them on right here.”, the Emperor ordered.

Ke’Ith deflated. He’d feared just that. He couldn’t- He didn’t-

Ke‘Ith willed himself to stop. Much like the Emperor had been ‘reborn’, he couldn’t dwell on his past whiny self either, no matter how oddly rare these outbursts of his had been as of lately.

So he balled his fists and slowly breathed in and out, gradually relaxing until his hands unclenched on their own.

Then he stripped.

Of course, given the bodyglove he wore beneath his robes, he wasn’t naked at all, more covered than bare, actually. Nonetheless, and for the whole time he changed his clothes, he had to remind himself to just do what he’d been told, no questioning, no hesitating.

In a sense, if weakened however, this was as agonizing as it’d been every time before; yet Ke’Ith was glad for the change of context.

When he’d donned his new robes, he turned towards the Emperor, expectantly waiting for him to explain himself.

Zarkon let his gaze roam all over Ke’Ith. “Good.”, he remarked. “Now, I believe a small metaphor will best explain your duties as an Imperial Inquisitor – or should I say as the Imperial Inquisitor. After all, if the Lords are my eyes and ears, my lackeys and spies so to say, then you, the Imperial Inquisitor, are my right hand; if this were a game of chess, I’d be the king and you’d be the queen.”

Queen – that was a horrible metaphor in Ke’Ith’s opinion. Someone else was supposed to fill the roles he’d just been assigned – his mother.

He spoke his mind accordingly.

“I believe somebody besides me already fulfills the purposes you’ve chosen me for, my Emperor.”

Zarkon stared right through Ke’Ith. Then he scoffed, dismissively. “Haggar is too busy toying with Quintessence to be of use in the sense I have in mind for you. In the end, she is but a pawn, as are all else.”

Ke’Ith’s stomach churned as he listened to the Emperor demean his wife – his queen – and Ke’Ith’s mother. 

But he couldn’t protest any further, not with how the Emperor stared him down the next moment as he rose from his throne and slowly stepped towards him.

“I have witnessed your power, Ke’Ith.”, he said, “I would be a fool to let it go to waste. A diamond in the rough, that is what you are. As such, you shall be at the very forefront of our efforts towards the persistence of the Empire, its heritage and its legacy. Thus, once you have finished your training, you will execute the tasks I trust you with. Any and all of them. Without fail and without question. Do you understand?”

Ke’Ith nodded dumbly, bewildered as can be. How could he not be after all, with the frequent changes of the Emperor’s behavior? First, he was openly praising Ke’Ith, then he was treating him as an equal, then he talked ill of his own wife and Empress and now he was back into his authoritative act… 

Ke’Ith didn’t get the man before him one bit.

Nonetheless, he answered, “I understand, my Emperor. I shall serve you as you see fit.”

The Emperor narrowed his eyes and scoffed. “Do you, now?”, he asked, “Do you truly understand? Well, we shall see.” 

With that said, Zarkon produced a black-and-purple tablet from behind him, and in handing it to Ke’Ith, explained, “Naturally, your position requires you to be adequately informed on both recent events and the general workings of the universe. Although I can imagine you already conversed with the High Priestess on both, this tablet, having been set up with your profile, grants you unrestricted access to the Imperial Archives and houses an integrated real time-newsfeed. Make wise use of both.”

“As befitting of an Imperial Inquisitor,”, the Emperor continued, “you will also be provided with a cadre of soldiers to support you as your bodyguards and. They shall join us at a later time.” 

“And I am sure you will be most delighted to meet them. Again, that is.”, Zarkon added with a mysterious hint of amusement.

Ke’Ith had no clue as to who that might be. And with how the Emperor had phrased it, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to meet whoever it was. However, he was rather sure he didn’t need bodyguards of all things, much less would be able to lead them. Or command the spaceship he’d been gifted. Or rule the castle and the adjoining territory he’d been given the keys for.

Then again, Ke’Ith was sure all would work out over time; as his mother had said, he should have trust in himself and his abilities.

And so, with his internal struggle somewhat laid to rest, Ke’Ith focused back on the Emperor, and found the man before him to have turned his back towards him in favor of facing the windows and the stars beyond once more.

A long moment of time passed before Zarkon resumed talking.

“Let us move on.”, he decided after the preceding silence had nearly stretched into oblivion.

“Normally,”, he began, “I offer every Lord or Lady a selection of newly built or recently vacated castles to choose from according to their personal tastes, but in your case, I have taken the liberty to do so myself already.”

“Given your position,”, the Emperor continued, typing something in on his wrist-com, pulling up a star-chart on the window in front of him, “you will have little time to address administrative issues and bureaucracy, not only, but especially in your new home and the territory it watches over. Thus, I have assigned you a castle whose surrounding lands require relatively little attention and effort to successfully manage: Kovesur Castle.”

With a few taps and swipes, the Emperor navigated through the star-chart before him, zooming in on a particular region of the universe, respectively on the outskirts of a particular galaxy, until he found a sector bearing the bold-lettered name ‘KOVESUR’. 

“There it is.”, Zarkon declared, “Star sector Kovesur, home to the main planet and castle of the same name. Containing roughly a hundred star systems and a few dozen planets, it is a fairly small sector. In addition, it houses but one inhabitated planet, the latter of which is Kovesur itself; a continental world and mining colony of negligible importance, home to the Yeon, a species of strong but submissive flightless bird-like humanoids. Being smart enough to acknowledge us as their betters, there has been no major unrest whatsoever since the planet was conquered a few decades ago. I believe you will have little difficulty fitting in there.”

The Emperor pulled up the picture of a corpulent, stout Galra in a black uniform, the markings of which revealed the man to be a planetary governor.

“This is Borok.”, the Emperor explained, “Planetary and Acting Sector Governor of Kovesur.”

Zarkon scoffed and narrowed his eyes in distaste. “This man has as much backbone as a squid, so even a political novice like you should find it relatively easy to consolidate your leadership in the sector – whenever you are present, that is, mind you. Honestly, I am expecting more resistance from the rest of Kovesur Castle’s staff and the Yeon…”

With an almost dismissive swipe, the Emperor closed the entire interface and turned away from the window.

“A word of warning, though, Ke’Ith.”, he said. “The previous royal inhabitant of Kovesur Castle had a few…quirks and treated those around him rather harsh, leaving a lasting – and not always the best – impression. You might be met with prejudice and disdain, even moreso considering your…”, he pointedly looked at Ke’Ith’s outfit, “occupation.”

Ke’Ith nodded, having understood fully. Sure, this had been, once again, a lot of information, but much like his mother, the Emperor had a rather pleasant way of presenting it.

Nonetheless, Ke’Ith made a mental note to later use his tablet to read more about Kovesur and its governor.

Zarkon exhaled audibly.

“Very well.”, he then announced, “On to the last point. Your personal flagship.”

The Emperor showed his wrist-com to Ke’Ith. One of its lights slowly pulsed purple.

“As you can see, I have just received word of its arrival in the system.”, he said, glancing out of the window, something catching his eye.

“And there it is.”, he declared, one-handedly gesturing towards a rapidly approaching form in the distance.

Ke’Ith followed the Emperor’s extended hand to where it pointed. And went rigid.


End file.
